


Serendipity

by kittymsmith



Series: Porkchops [5]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Nonbinary Character, Romance, casual/realistic? miragehound, lore heavy, pov now also wraith and crypto, pov usually elliot and bloodhound, some mild suggestive content, updated 1-2 times a month on Tuesdays, wraith is a good friend, you dont have to read any of the series to understand this just btdubbs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2020-09-28 09:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 81,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20423552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymsmith/pseuds/kittymsmith
Summary: ser·en·dip·i·ty/ˌserənˈdipədē/nounthe occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.---Bloodhound was a faded background piece in the composition of Elliot's life as a Legend. They were a skilled hunter and tracker. They were the best teammate and the worst enemy. But they knew no one, talked to no one, and were seen with no one; they wereno one, and Elliot was pretty sure they wanted it that way. Fine by him.But then it wasn't fine. Because there was a day in which Elliot did one little thing differently, made one little choice, thought one little thought. Suddenlyno onewassomeone, and someone unlocked a gate Elliot never thought he'd see open.





	1. Someone

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially the sequel and spiritual successor to "Memories and Mask Baubles". I realized I wanted a more Elliot/Bloodhound focused fic and so, therefore, decided to focus on one longer self-contained fiction. 
> 
> I love and encourage feedback and suggestions, thoughts where the story is going, questions etc. I love interacting with readers and appreciate anything anyone has to say, and if I use anything suggested by a commenter I will of course credit in the notes. 
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy y'all.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot's an idiot; but Bloodhound has their moment

Bits of dirt scuttled across the cracked desert earth. Mirage dropped against a rock, heaving, twisting a shield cell as his whole body tremored with pain, then took in the godly cocktail of drugs that made up a med pack until he went from a one-shot kill to a one-shot killer. He watched behind him as he reloaded his weapons, a team firing shots from the ancient skull that cast its shadow on the town. They didn’t see him. Ahead was a little settlement that he quickly shuffled into and began looting, trading his prowler for a longbow and 8x scope and gathering all the bombs and health he could carry. He was solo now, his whole squad taken out by the firefight in Skulltown because of _course_ he got matched with _two_ new guys who thought they knew half anything about surviving. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad their banners had timed out.

He moved quickly with his usual flair; humming as he grabbed this and that, a few quips that he made sure the cameras trailing him caught, bit of a dance on his way into the town outside bunker and a kiss to everyone viewing before he settled down at the top of the tower for some sniping. He added a little butt wiggle as he got comfy, then aimed towards Runoff, where the circle was centering.

To his surprise, Bloodhound was kneeling on a roof, seemingly having taken an old Pathfinder zipline, gazing up at the Leviathan that had begun wandering closer to Kings Canyon. We’re they alone? He scanned the area, concluding that they had to be. Bloodhound never strayed from their team, ever, and no signs pointed to company. Mirage wasn’t sure if he feared them more solo or not. They’d only started a season before him, but in that time they’d won almost every game they played in, and made a record as the fastest rise to Legend status in Apex history-less than three weeks, all told. They were a God, and Mirage had been terrified and fascinated as anyone else by them when he joined the games as a fledgling. His first encounter with them they’d shot him with a sniper from who-the-hell knows where and then was polite enough to come down and stab him while gently saying, “there is more honor in death than a life without test.”

He had been, understandably, impressed.

After making it to Legend status (alongside Pathfinder-he’d never thought they would actually let a robot join the games, but first time for everything! He was happy for him) Mirage had been ready to meet the Legend, he assumed face to face. But Bloodhound was a ghost. They were never out of uniform, hardly in the cafeteria, and when they were they just scribbled in a notepad and watched their bird drink water. They were honestly super nice and courteous and polite or whatever, always volunteered to run the fledglings through the basics before they went and got murdered for other people’s entertainment, but beyond that, they were just kind of…blah. So, Mirage forgot about them. They faded into the background, he let the mystery that enwrapped their being go with them and they became all but a cardboard cutout placed in different spots every couple of days. In the ring though, they were spectacular to play with and spectacular to die by. But even more spectacular was the chance to kill them.

He took long enough to check around him, then that his magazine was full-if he pulled it right, he could get a two-shot knock, then one shot elimination. Oh, oh, oh, or, or! He could go _finish_ them. Yeah. That would totally boost his ratings. Not that they needed boosting of course, but…

Then he saw it, someone crawling up the wall of the building behind Bloodhound. They must have been silent, however they were doing it, as the hunter did not stir. Mirage bit his lip. They had to be a mid-tier player at most, considering he didn’t recognize them at all. Probably newly appointed. He remembered how it felt then to go after a Legend, to even encounter one. It’d taken him until he was nearly High Tier status to kill one. It’d been Gibraltar. He gripped the gun, watching through the scope. Something made him stop. Something made him give them a chance. One he’d never gotten.

They crept up behind Bloodhound. They stood behind them, holding their breath. Elliot expected them to pull the peacekeeper from their back and blow Bloodhound’s head off-brutal, camera-worthy. Splatter would be great. But they didn’t do that. It was one swift movement, a single reach around and pull, and there was the biggest secret on the whole Frontier.

Elliot panicked. He threw his own peacekeeper behind him and in a single shot, all three cameras were gone. Then he went back to his sniper, to his scope. The mask was in the hand of the nobody and there was a face with absolute, unabhorred panic looking up at them from the ground, like some tragic renaissance painting. He shot the nobody. They dropped the mask and turned. Bloodhound took this moment to grab them, arm around their neck, and slit their throat. The blood flooded, pooled and spilled over Bloodhounds arm as they stood, gripping, squeezing. Finally, something seemed to snap in them and they dropped the player, stabbing them once in the chest.

Bloodhound picked up the mask and knelt by their kill as the body dematerialized, replaced by a death box. When they looked up, Mirage felt a shiver run from the back of his skull to the tip of his toes. There was something in the gaze that felt strange and sort of…forbidden?

The stare didn’t move. They saw him, they knew where he was. They knew who he was. But they didn’t look away; they pulled the mask over their head, they pulled and tugged and tucked into their layers. Elliot couldn’t see from the distance exactly what they looked like. He couldn’t tell someone if they were a man or a woman, biologically speaking; he couldn’t tell someone their eye color, he could maybe say their hair was brown. But he wasn’t sure. He saw them put their foot on the corner of the box and kick, sending it sailing off the roof to the ground. Then they jumped after it.

Mirage didn’t know what to feel in that moment. Then, he didn’t feel much of anything, because someone shot him in the head.

* * *

He was sitting on a bench in the men’s locker-room after a shower, damp towel draped over his head and shoulders. The migraines after headshots were always worse than the actual headshot, but at least this time he had a nurse that wasn’t shy with the FuckYaUppers (as Wraith so eloquently dubbed them). He’d stayed in the infirmary late, and as a result was alone, something he counted as a blessing. What would he have done, surrounded by people with that image in his mind? He felt like a sinner in church, goddammit. It was so far away, but the fact he even had the image at all, any clue of their skin or hair, the knowledge they had eyes, even though that was usually a given-

A pair of boots appeared on the floor. He inhaled deeply and looked up. Yep. That was them. In full terrifying regalia, ominous raven included.

“Mirage.” They said. Their ventilator echoed between the tiles.

He shivered, managing a nod.

A long, extremely uncomfortable pause. “We need to talk.”

He looked at his hands-still there. Therefore, he wasn’t dead. Therefore, he probably wouldn’t be dead in the next half hour; and therefore, he could breathe again, albeit shakily. “Right.” They were silent. “Uh, here?”

“Your apartment.”

“Suppose I owe you dinner first?” Haha why the _hell_ did he just say that.

“Ha.” He wanted to die. Like, half die. Breathing but non-existent until they walked away and never talked to him again. But _that _wasn’t happening anytime soon, so he got up and started walking out.

“Uh-”

“What?”

“Um, a-towel?”

He took hold of the one on his shoulders. “Uh, yeah?”

They gestured to the rest of him. He looked down. Oh yeah. He wrapped the towel he already had around his waist, which covered his ass but was clearly not long enough for Bloodhound’s tastes, then went on ahead in his bare feet to the elevator. Bloodhound followed, visibly glancing between him and the door as they traveled up to the penthouse, currently Elliot’s. One of the perks of being a Legend was having a floor completely to oneself. Some weird mechanical engineering magic rearranged the floors each season by Legend popularity. And Elliot, using his masculine wiles, had scored the penthouse for the season. He punched in the door code and led the coveted hunter into his humble (pretty damn fine) abode.

Open concept kitchen that led to a sunken living and dining room; at the far end a fireplace was cattycornered to the left, and to the right were sliding glass doors leading to a sizable balcony. Beside the kitchen was a hall leading to a couple bedrooms, bathrooms and a spare room he used to tinker in. All was off-white carpet and dark oak flooring and beadboard walls that matched the trim and cabinets, furniture appropriate line between fashionable and comfy, decorations to his liking. Yeah. It was damn nice.

Bloodhound made a noise of admiration, but quickly turned to Elliot. “Put on pants. Please.”

“Right. Pants.” His brain went from “everything is fine” to “haha what the fuck” all over again. Found a pair of sweatpants, came back out and there was the raven-crow? The big bird boi was sitting in his sink. Bloodhound was hissing at him in their language from the entrance. “Uh, what’s…up?”

Bloodhound hesitated, then sighed. “He…he wants a bath.”

“Oh. Well-uh, I mean…I’ve never had a crow-“

“Raven.”

“-Raven, take a bath in my sink, uh, before but uh…that’s fine. Do I just-turn on the faucet or?”

“Yes-not too hard though he gets…nibby.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow as he walked over. The raven cocked its head at him and rustled its feathers in anticipation(?). “Nibby?”

“Nib-nibbly. Actually, I should…”

They hesitated again, looking between Elliot’s impeccable carpet and their nasty ass field boots that he hadn’t noticed until then. Feeling much more confident now that he was in pants and his own house, he shook his head. “Just take them off.”

They hesitated again, like he asked them to get naked or something, but they finally pulled them off and padded across in plain sock feet to the kitchen. They turned the faucets simultaneously, adjusting according to which glove the bird nipped at until the bird seemed content. “There, Arthur, are you satisfied? You little _andskoti_.”

“Your birds name is fucking Arthur?”

They turned to him, far less intimidating two inches shorter and bootless. “No, just Arthur.”

It took Elliot a minute to get that.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“Oh, uh, no, but I definitely expected something other than Arthur.”

He could hear a tinge of annoyance, followed by a sudden removal of their mask. Elliot jumped back. Their eyes were blue- like cracked ice, spine-shivering in their intensity. He hadn’t met a single person with eyes like that in his life and he was somewhere between distraught he hadn’t and afraid he’d meet another; their skin looked soft, they had a little scar on the bridge of their nose and a mouth that turned down at the corners and-and what the _hell_ were they doing? He had seen them sure but not-not like this! Did they not realize? He managed to meet their eyes. They had him backed into a wall. They were studying him. He felt like prey.

“You saw me.”

Their voice-without the ventilator, the distorter-Mirage heard music. It was clear and sweet, soft toned but firm, even, confident. His head was swimming. “I-I-I am now, yeah.”

“I found the cameras. You shot them. Why?”

They’d followed his trail? Of course. “B-Because face.”

“My face?”

“Your face. Was there. Right there.”

“…Why did you shoot the cameras?”

He stuttered and stammered, every word he started ended in a bumbling soup of nonsense. Bloodhound slowly took a step back, and he felt he could breathe enough to manage, “n-nobody knows what you look like. S-Some aslow-asswole-shit, _asshole_ shouldn’t, you know, harve-have charge of that-Jesus I was just doing what I thought was _decent!_”

They blinked, eyebrows raising slightly. Arthur squawked behind them, louder and louder until they stepped back further, eyes still on Mirage, and turned off the faucets. The bird shook off and started preening himself. “That’s why?”

“Uh-yeah? Do…do I need another reason?” His heart was pounding, and he hated himself because it wasn’t just because he was scared. Bloodhound paused, then leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. They ducked their head, sighing. “I…oh shit, you don’t think-I wasn’t going to blackmail you or anything.”

They shrugged slightly; eyes aimed at the floor. Stray umber locks fell from a neat bun at the back of their neck, curtaining their face. “I’m afraid it would not be the first time.”

He could breathe again. He couldn’t stop thinking about their eyes. He did not like what he was feeling at that moment. “That’s messed up.”

They turned their head up and gave a thin-lipped smile. “So is the world; this one and the next.”

He shook his head. “Well, I wouldn’t do that. Like, ever. That’s just-no. And I wouldn’t dream of saying anything. I mean, besides the fact you’d totally kill me in my sleep-“

“I’m afraid it would be dishonorable to not allow you a fight.”

_OOOOHKAY PUTTING YOU IN THE DO-NOT-FUCK-WITH BOX_ “-Uh, right. Besides that I…don’t wanna make your life difficult or anything.”

They nodded, slowly. “You swear to be quiet.”

“I swear.”

“You swear to deny you ever saw.”

“I swear. And when the Officials come tear me a new asshole about the cameras, I’ll blame a twitchy trigger finger.”

“They won’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.”

They cocked their head at him with a sudden full, real smile-oh no. Dimples. He was done for. “I suppose that is all that needs said then.”

“I-I, I suppose it is.” They turned their mask in their hands, then pulled it over their face, exhaling. Arthur waited by the door as they put their boots back on, carefully tucking in their pants, tapping the toe; all the while Elliot leaned on the counter, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood. Just as they put a hand on the doorknob he sputtered, “h-hey, wait.”

They turned their head toward him. The image of their face was burned in his mind; instead of the mask there was those eyes, soft lips downturned, a little scar.

“If…if you-…look, you must wanna take that make off sometimes. My place is safe. I swear to God, or Allfather or whatever you’re most, uh, whatever means the most to you-I swear there’s nothing here but me. And if the-if the me is a problem you can totally go to your own place and everything but if…if you wanna I…don’t know, hang out or something, I’m totally cool with that. More than cool with that. Like-…I’ll stop talking.”

A noise from their ventilator-did they laugh? “I will consider your offer, Mirage.”

“Elliot.”

They paused an awkward amount of time-they seemed to have a thing for that, then gestured to themselves. “All I can offer is the name I already have.”

He laughed nervously. “Hey, I’ll take it,” Bloodhound nodded and turned to go, “wait! Sorry-one-one more thing what…what about the guy? That…yeah. That guy.”

They audibly laughed this time, pulling open the door. “Do not worry, _felagi_. It was his last game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also have a Tumblr where I take c*mmissions @ kittymsmithwritesstuff.tumblr.com


	2. Cold Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly More Sober Wraith Advice ftw; Bloodhound needs to get out more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we start splitting perspectives from just Elliot's, which will be a thing. :p 
> 
> Also, if this matters to anyone when reading, when in Bloodhound's perspective their monologue and thoughts would be in their native language. I mix in some references to Old Norse to kind of hint at that or at least make it feel a little more like so since I can't speak a dead language or modern equivalents, lol.
> 
> Thanks to those reviewing and leaving kudos, really appreciate it and lets me know you're enjoying the fic. :D

Elliot took a cold as balls shower immediately after Bloodhound left. He went from sure he’d die, to okay, to very sure he was gonna die, to inviting Bloodhound over whenever they wanted. All underscored by a tongue-twisting, heart pumping, stupid, sudden crush. Yes, he was a natural flirt who employed all the masculine wiles given to him to land whomever he wanted in his lap-and yes, he had a few relationships over the years, but mostly it was noncommittal stuff. And in those cases he always made sure everyone was on the same page, that there was no romance about it. He wasn’t an ass, just a slut.

But if he ended up _feeling_ something? Hoo-boy…

He stayed in the shower until he finally was able to convince himself he could function out of it. His mind was overloading, every gear whirring in confusion. He tried to distract himself, first with TV, then a video game and finally retreating to his workshop, but even then all he did was stare at a wrench and wonder how he was going to get himself out of this. If he could get himself out of this. He hadn’t felt this stupid since he was sixteen and Cindy Langsfield asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Oof.

Bloodhound hadn’t mattered at all to him until they took off that mask. They were….so goddamn hot. It felt like that time he accidentally tazed himself on Khionan mushrooms; a bolt of numbing electricity that stopped every part of him moving, followed by a strange electrical bliss that made his mind more gobbledygook than it usually was. Granted that was mostly the mushrooms. He got tazed another time on a different planet when he was sober. Not _nearly_ as fun.

Maybe he felt guilty, that it was all looks. But maybe it wasn’t? They did actually, you know, talk. They had a…moment of vulnerability? Now that he thought about it, maybe that was it. Well, the face was nice and that was definitely part of it because Elliot was a bit shallow (_I mean, who isn’t?_) but the more he thought about them the more he realized it felt like more than surface level, and he’d really never met someone like them, they weren't exactly his traditional "type", and he had no idea what to do or how to go about it. He breathed deeply and stood up. It was time to consult the oracle.

He started to open his liquor cabinet, planning to bring a bottle of wine over but was stopped by a sudden hand on his arm. He screamed and jumped away, taking the only pose he remembered from the karate lessons he quit in the 3rd grade. It was Wraith. “You asshole!”

She smiled. “Sup.”

Elliot huffed, relaxing. Wraith’s powers, contractually limited on field so other players had a chance, allowed her to phase straight through walls and most other solid objects. She was the oldest Legend, first to join and consistently in the top 5 overall; she’d been one of Elliot’s favorites when he was just a viewer. Now they were good friends, having met when she accidentally phased through her floor into his room his first night as a Legend. “What do you want?”

“Company.” She frowned. “Which you look like you could use.”

He paused. “Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?”

She cocked her head to the side, and he immediately wrapped his arms around his head. “Oh, stop it. That was one time, and you asked me to!”

“Because I thought you were lying!”

She waved him away, opening the fridge and grabbing a soda. “Whatever, it’s exhausting and all I can tell is your mood. Usually. Which, right now, is kind of a mess.”

“I thought you said it was exhausting.”

“It is. But you radiate internal discontent like a broken microwave.”

He made a face, then sighed. “Goddammit. I-look, I was gonna come over but, well, you can’t tell anybody. And I mean _anybody_, because you’ll literally die. I’ll literally die first, but you’ll literally die second.”

“Did you buy weed from the wrong guy or something?”

“Wraith.”

“Sorry. I won’t say anything.”

“Okay.” He inhaled deeply, shaking his hands. He hated to go back on his word, but… “Bloodhound. I saw their face.”

She choked on her soda. “No way!”

“_They took their mask off in my apartment.”_

Wraith gaped. From then, it poured out, half bumbled; the Apex grounds, the locker room, the conversation, the face-minus any physical details. He couldn’t go back on his word that much. And, because he was bumbling through all of it he ended up mentioning the cold shower before stopping himself dead. Wraith listened attentively, then smirked. “So, they’re hot.”

“Maybe!” His voice cracked weirdly on the y.

“To Elliot Witt, they’re hot.”

“Fuck, _yes_.”

“You poor baby.”

“Shut up.” He breathed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. He opted for a Jack and coke instead of a glass of wine, also making one for Wraith, more coke than Jack. She was trying to cut down. “Look I just…am I shellow-schawlo-shall-am I an asshole?”

“What, for not caring till you saw their face? Oh wait, - _and then I saw their face, nanana nanana nananananana, now I’m a believer-_ sorry I had to get that out. All things considered, no.”

“But I didn’t care until I saw them. I never even talked to them outside the games.”

“Elliot, no one talks to them. They barely exist.” She batted her glass between her hands, leaving a condensation track that reflected the kitchen lights painfully. “But I guess you’re wanting my advice.”

“Yes, please,” he wished he didn’t sound so desperate.

“Alright. You think they’re hot.”

“Knockout.”

“And feelings.”

“Yeah.”

“And they said they’d think about coming over.”

“Yeah.”

She nodded and considered things very seriously for a moment. Elliot wished he could read her thoughts. Emotions. Whatever. “Then just act like you. But, uh, chill. Don’t leap at them, let them come to you. Say hi, be friendly and all that. But if they push back, lay off a bit. They’re quiet, private, and cautious. Let them decide if they want to go forward with it. Be _patient.”_

Elliot was bad at patience. But it might be the only thing that kept him alive. “Okay. That…thanks Wraith. That’s really solid advice.”

She smiled, holding up her hand. “Slightly More Sober Wraith Advice.”

He high-fived. “Slightly More Sober Wraith Advice, for the win.”

* * *

Bloodhound walked into their apartment, pulled off their mask, poured half a glass of whiskey, downed it, then picked up a pillow and screamed into it as loud as physically possible. Arthur watched from his perch by the couch and squawked. Bloodhound waved their hand at him, inhaled, and screamed again. They put down the pillow and started shedding their clothes on the way to the shower. “I am an idiot, I am an idiot, I am an idiot,” they sang on the way. Arthur squawked at them. “Hey! You’re not supposed to agree.”

Arthur retorted with a chittering.

Bloodhound, slightly offended, went to cleanse themselves of the day’s dirt and anxiety, coming out refreshed and stark naked because they lived alone and there was no way in hel they did not take full advantage of it. They fed Arthur, got another glass of whiskey, but this time reasonably portioned and combined with leftovers, and laid out on the couch. He couldn’t have possibly seen them very well from that distance. Maybe their hair, their skin color, sure-but they hadn’t maintained their identity revealing themselves. All they’d done is taken a man’s stick and replaced it with a gun. And for what? For _nothing_; there was no reason to do what they did. They couldn’t think why they would ever do what they did. Why? _Why?_

_Impulse._

That had to be it. There was no rhyme nor reason, there was no cause. It was not a decision so much as a reaction; a response to someone knowing, someone seeing. They'd seen his eyes and suddenly, inexplicably, they wanted him to see theirs. For _someone_ to see theirs. It had been nearly two decades since someone had seen their face. Only one person who did not exist in their life before they donned the mask knew what they looked like. And now the number was two.

Allfather would forgive them; they were only human in this life. If there was no forgiveness, there was no learning and no improvement. That thought gone, a new one arose; who _was_ Elliot Witt? And how much did Bloodhound want to find out?


	3. Sea of Obsidian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerds; Kleinur for the Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this turned out a little late. Hope y'all enjoy, and thank you for the kudos/comments!

The next day Bloodhound nodded to Elliot in the cafeteria and said hello. He managed to not look stupid replying. Then two days after, they casually asked if they could sit with him, Wraith and Ajay. Ajay was the only one to question them after they sat. “He insisted,” they gestured to Arthur, who placed a nut and bolt on her tray and took her toast. Elliot snorted. Bloodhound hand a hand to their mask.

“Well, at least he paid for it.” Ajay mused.

The next day, in the dropship, Elliot complimented Bloodhound’s outfit-it was the Imperial Guard one. They, in turn, looked at Elliot and said, “that nut and bolt was from my dryer. He took it off because he hates the noise. This was the only thing that wasn’t wet.” Elliot became a puddle of giggles because he had an image of Arthur stealing the nut and bolt with Mission Impossible music in the background. When questioned by nearby players, Bloodhound shrugged and said, “I do not know.”

Elliot passed them in the hallway and they greeted each other civilly. And when in town for groceries (Read: alcohol) he spotted them in a big maple tree, where it seemed Arthur the raven was talking to some other birds. They were almost invisible in the leaves and seemed surprised both to see him and to be seen, but nonetheless asked how his day was and wished him luck in the Games that afternoon.

He lost against Bloodhound that day, who unsurprisingly won the game. Afterward Elliot was wandering around, as he was prone to do when he was bored and trying not to think about someone he wanted a whole lot to think about, going to the empty training grounds. He grabbed a Wingman and shot some targets, quickly getting bored and deciding to climb things he shouldn’t, landing himself on the metal support that laid between two pillars of rock. So, he was climbing and goofing off with the Wingman, twirling it on one finger then tossing it to the other hand and repeating while looking at the sky and walking along the precarious metal beam when he kicked something soft that grunted.

Bloodhound moved slightly and pushed themselves into a sitting position, looking up at Elliot. Elliot was rather surprised. “Ah…hallo.”

He blinked. “Hello.”

“What are you doing up here?”

Elliot felt significantly more in control of himself with the mask in the way. Still, he kind of wanted to scream. “Oh, you know, just…stupid…stuff. Cause I’m dumb. Real dumb.” He should stop. “Uh, you?”

They leaned over, looking at the hundred-odd-foot drop to the desert floor and half-wakedly grumbled, “stupid stuff.”

“Ah. We got something in common, huh?”

“I suppose.”

_Wait, I just called them stupid didn’t I?_ “I, uh…do you mind company?”

They inhaled deeply, crossed their legs and stretched. Man, this was weird. They were never not fighting, crouching, healing, tracking. He knew they trained the low-tier “fledgling” players, and that they were good at it, but he’d never seen it; even after the whole thing at his apartment Bloodhound as anything but a killing machine was blowing his mind. “No.”

He flopped down in front of them, one leg hanging off the side and the other tucked under him. The sunset cast stark orange and pink shadows on their side. He looked towards it, swinging the Wingman back and forth. “You know, it’s weird, the sunsets here are different than the rest of Solace.”

“Are they?”

“Yeah, most the time there’s tons of purple, and pink. And that weird dark blue-but here you get orange. I don’t know why, it’s weird.”

“You are from Solace?”

He realized they were leaning forward. He quietly leaned in himself. The retreating sun reflected in their eyepieces; circles of fire in a sea of obsidian. “Y-Yeah. Solace City. I know, we’re a creative bunch.”

They cocked their head to the side. He could see the furrowed brow in his head. Their voice betrayed their hidden smile, “so it seems, Elliot. I’ll be honest, Solace is not a planet I’ve spent a lot of time on. Least of all the city.”

“Ah, can’t blame you. You’re not really a, uh, people person, huh?”

They chuckled. “No.” A pause, not as long as their usual ones. “What is it like? The city.”

He shrugged. “Uh, big. Oldetown is nice, the rest of it is…narrow streets, close quarters. Skyscrapers, some of the newest tech you can imagine, it’s insane. Has everything in the galaxy to do. Has a lot of problems, too. But that’s the same for any place like it. Had a pretty decent life there till-“ he hesitated, glancing their way. Bloodhound did not press, leaning back slightly, letting him decide. “I…well, when my brothers’ started going MIA. Things got hard, some places in SC are…awful, honestly. But it’s still home.”

“And things are better now?”

“Immensely. Got my mom this little place on the ousker-outsker-skur- outside of town. Garden all she wants, sunshine, no smog in the winter. I bought the bar I used to work at. It…” He shrugged, finding himself looking down, through the spaces in the metal beam. The heat on his back, he was on the porch steps, the air was heavy, pressing all around him- he shook his head. He could feel Bloodhound looking at him and raised his head to meet their eyes-goggles. Whatever. “It makes getting shot worth it, you know?”

Their hands gripped the supports tightly. “I…do.”

He hadn’t expected them to answer. The whole sky was red. The dust stirred beneath them, mirroring the clouds. The silence was comfortable for no reason Elliot could discern. It wasn’t broken until the twilight had slipped gently into a deep, amber dusk, at which point Bloodhound stood and offered their hand to him. “Come, felagi. If we remain here much longer, we won’t be able to tell our feet from our hands.”

Mirage took their hand, a little surprised by how strong the grip was. He couldn’t count how many times he’d been revived by them, yet he’d never noticed. When he stood, they didn’t let go of his hand. “Have you ever had kleinur?”

“Klawata?”

They laughed-actually laughed! And that was a really stupid joke so they probably weren’t laughing because they thought it was funny! Sweet. “Klei-nur. Also said Kleina. It’s a pastry.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had it.”

“That is a shame. They are very good-“ they paused, but this time it wasn’t so awkward, “where I am from, they are eaten with coffee. Perhaps I will bring some over sometime.”

“That w-would be fantaplist-fantaps-_fantastic_, it would be goddamn fantastic. I-perhaps, uhm, perhaps I’d, you’d like to see the city sometime.”

“I would.”

His heart skipped a beat. He could only nod because he hadn’t expected them to say yes. They gently slipped their hand from his. “We have an early fight tomorrow. Allfather willing, we will vinna. But Allfather is no substitute for rest.”

“Right,” he found himself nodding, “rest. That’s a thing that’s necessary for survival or something.”

“Or something.”

“So I’ll…see you tomorrow?”

“You shall see me then. Friend or foe, may Allfather bless you,” they nodded their head, smoothly went around him with a side step and a twirl back around to face him. “Oh, and Elliot?”

He turned, feeling how hot his face was. “Yeah?”

“I am looking forward to the next time we _do_ fight alongside each other.”

He nearly swooned like a heroine in a 1940s melodrama. “I second that. Like, a lot.”

They smiled, and they jumped off the side and caught a rope, swirling towards the ground, Elliot’s heart racing after them.

* * *

**A Hunter Coming to Terms With Some Things:**

When they saw Elliot, they said hello. He responded in kind, half bumbling but with a face that said he _thought _he sounded normal. They had convinced themself they didn’t find it endearing, except that was just blatant denial. They’d been trying to convince themself of many things, but even the hunter had trouble focusing in the face of handsome bumbling men who had invited them to visit _anytime._ He was not subtle. But like any other Legend they knew Mirage-Elliot’s _tendencies. _They’d assumed that was where his invitation was heading. But he’d never been so giddy with others, least that they had observed, and it was infectious; charm was his tool, his act, it felt so natural, palatable. But when directed at them, however subtly or not subtly each morning, it felt different. They weren’t sure which one of them was the fool.

They asked to sit with him and Wraith and Ajay. They’d decided they were curious, that they wanted to see where it all would go. Could go. Soon as they sat Arthur dropped a nut and bolt on Lifeline’s tray and stole her bread. Bloodhound would have face-palmed were it physically possible. But they made it through breakfast with a gentle apology, refuted by an amused Lifeline, then went on to play and win against Elliot. They won and were immediately teleported to the infirmary; to fix anything that was broken.

They woke in a private room in the infirmary, a part of their contract that guaranteed their continued participation. Bloodhound probably cost the Games more money to revive and heal than any other Legend, but they also consistently made them more. In the end it afforded them resurrection without the cheaper human interference, and the continued maintenance of their identity.

They felt scattered after running into him in the hall again, and it wasn’t the resurrection drugs. Well, not totally. He was handsome, he was appealing, and they were becoming _terribly _aware of it. It was becoming hard to deny, but nothing beat withering denial like another heavier layer of denial in the form of cleaning the entire apartment on a whim. To wrap up the night they picked up all the dirty clothes from the floor, tossed them in the wash, then tossed them in the dryer and went to bed; only to find in the morning that the nut and bolt Arthur had traded for bread belonged to some part of the dryer and they had to wear their fancy outfit for no reason. They hated that thing-the hat got in the way of their peripheral vision and no matter how big a fuss they made they weren’t allowed to have it colored something more palatable than bright red. But, of course, Elliot complimented it.

They didn’t know why, but they told Elliot about the broken dryer. He laughed like an idiot. He snorted when he laughed. God, it was _cute_. This made them think about launching themselves straight into the ocean instead of playing, but they were placed on Elliot’s team so…they lost.

But as with all losses, it happened for a reason. Bloodhound had a spot they liked to nap, one in which no one had ever discovered them at the very top of the training grounds. It was quiet, and hidden, practically; a type of place the normal person would never think, or at least never actually act on the thought, of exploring. But that day they were woken with a kick to the side by a wandering Elliot. Looking up at him, they felt they had found the reason.

**Following An Encounter:**

“Where is my…oh, to hel with it.” Bloodhound grabbed a pizza cutter in place of the great disappearing kleinujárn and began slicing the kleinur. It had been three days since they’d met Elliot on the training grounds and they’d only just followed up on the kleinur date. It was the Dead Days-one of the four sets a season where players shot from morning till night instead of the four to six-hour game 5 days a week. It was made to produce intense, sometimes heart wrenching, highlight worthy footage that made up the bulk of the last month of the season’s footage. It was also used to pad regular games, for specials, or to remind players of old Legends that come back after a season off. Everyone got a small bonus for playing, even the unpaid fledglings.

Bloodhound’s Dead Day had been the day before; Mirage’s was today. What it usually meant to Bloodhound was collapsing in a heap, followed by a late-night bath and an hour of copying scripture before going to bed and sleeping the entirety of the next day. This time they collapsed and slept till morning, managed a quick shower and then met Elliot long enough to arrange the date. They’d selected that day simply because it felt right. And maybe because some part of them hoped they’d both be too tired to make any…rash decisions.

They were nervous how this was all going to go-where they were willing to go, were Elliot was willing for it to go. They were sort of scared just where they _wanted_ it to go. And the fact that, if it went awfully, they were quite unnerved to realize that it could…hurt. They sighed, scooping out the kleinur from the deep fryer and looking at Arthur. “I shouldn’t be worrying this much.”

He chittered.

“It’s been…a whiiiile but- it’s not like it’s unfamiliar territory. I shouldn’t be this nervous… Oh Hel, I feel like an old fool.”

Arthur half cawed and began preening himself.

“Would you stop agreeing with me?” It wasn’t exactly traditional, but Bloodhound dusted half the kleinur in powdered sugar, because it was tasty no matter what their Amma said. They glanced at their clock. “Another 45 minutes before I embarrass myself.” They chuckled quietly, but their nerves were not settled. They decided, after a cup of coffee and a few warm kelinur, to copy their scripture again-Allfather willing, they had always drawn some confidence from it.

They became so engrossed in the writing they went well over the 45 minutes, but told themselves all would be well, changed into a clean outfit, and took the wrapped Kleinur to the elevator. Besides, wasn’t like it was really a date…right?

They breathed deeply, looking down at the tin foil wrapped plate. “Allfather,” they whispered, “give me _strength._”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone makes kleinur tell me how it turns out https://allthatcooking.com/2015/05/17/icelandic-kleinur/


	4. Your Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot needs an adult, Bloodhound will have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, sorry about the delay on this chapter! I noticed the major uptick in views and I’m really sorry to disappoint anyone who has been following. I am trying to keep this fic to a weekly update schedule but was having a bit of an issue because of where I want this to go, but not being able to fully plan until the release of Season 3. Anyway, not gonna get deeply in that. But PLEASE NOTE:
> 
> I try and keep this fic largely compliant with the canon of the Titanfall universe, in which Apex Legends is based. As such in case you have not played the Titanfall games (like myself, lol) Demeter is a planet that was (from what I gather) basically a halfway point between the Frontier and the Core System (where most of humanity lives and is from, they traveled to the Frontier during a whole lot of hullabaloo). Demeter was destroyed in a battle, so technically everyone is cut off from each other. But for purposes of fic, insert another planet or something so that everyone can still get to the Core, it’s just harder. I'll address it in more detail later.
> 
> A’ight, I’ll let y’all go. I hope you enjoy and thank you to the kudo-ers and reviewers, y’all make writing fic more enjoyable and I love to hear from all of you.

Elliot was tired but totally _pumped_ after the back to back games. The first he made it to the bottom two before heroically perishing mid-revive of a brave fledgling beside him and went on to win the second in a glorious comeback. The third and fourth and fifth had been shorter, but he’d still won one and of them and got in the bottom five of the other two. He totally _rocked_. Yeet. Or whatever the kids said nowadays. A quick stop for a drink with some of the other Legends at the in-house bar and he was rockin’ it all the way to his apartment. He decided on a second shower since he still smelled like the mud and blood and sweat of all five games (it was _so _hard to get out of his clothes), but soon as the hot water hit his back, all the energy he had flowed down the drain, replaced by a jelly-limbed euphoria.

He got out, got on underwear and decided, fuck it. He had been intending to dye his hair, but he couldn’t even read the instructions without his eyes crossing. He made it to the couch and collapsed.

Something sweet filled his nose and he cracked open his eyes. He thought Wraith must have broken in and made pancakes again but he was instead greeted by a bleary plate of something warm and fried; his eyes followed the arm up to a face, the sight of which startled him awake. They were smirking.

Elliot sat up, barely missing the plate, feeling disoriented but hyper aware. Somehow, he’s forgotten about their…date? “How did you get in my apartment?”

“Uh, the door was open?”

Elliot squinted, then looked past them to the door. He rolled off the couch, stumbled from his knees to his feet, and got to the kitchen counter. A note.

_I stole all ur coke and your switch so I can kick ajays ass at Mario kart. I’ll pay you back. _

_OwO_

“Goddamn it, Wraith.”

“How do you know it’s her?” Bloodhound had materialized beside him.

“Ugh, it-it’s this thing,” he pointed to the symbol at the bottom, “this fuckin, ‘oo-ah-oo’ shit. I hate it so she made it her signature.”

They set the plate on the counter. He didn’t have to imagine the amusement on their face and he was getting very comfortable with the fact. “I see you are very good friends.”

“Unfortunately.” He smiled.

Bloodhound unwrapped the plate and Elliot’s stomach growled loud enough for them to hear. “Kleinur?”

“Very good.” They were shaped like little…trapizoids? Half covered in powdered sugar, the other half not, and all smelling _great_. “I lost my kleinujárn but it’s really a visual thing.”

“Your what?”

“It’s like a pizza cutter. But for kleinur.”

“Wait, you guys eat so much of this stuff they made a tool just for it?”

They nodded. “The powdered sugar is not…traditional, but it’s tasty.”

“You just eat it plain?” Elliot walked over to his Keurig/Coffee maker (a gift from Wraith when she still did drunk Amazon shopping) and popped in a dark roast.

“Yes. It’s tasty enough.”

From there began the conversation-Bloodhound explaining the complexities of kleinur like it was a 200-level college course, even though there was like 3 ingredients. But Mirage listened the whole while. And he usually wasn’t very good at listening, at least not without interrupting way too much. He had to resist the urge to jump in and shout something relatable about himself, even though there was nothing relevant about Elliot Witt to kleinur. Somehow, he held his tongue, staying himself with the pastry of the hour and the exhaustion wrought throughout his body. He was only thirty and he couldn’t imagine being older and doing Dead Days. He wondered, suddenly, how old Bloodhound was.

Again, he bit his tongue-quite literally, he actually drew blood. The conversation flowed from kleinur to his Games that day, which he had great fun bragging about, and then naturally onward to something else. It was all so smooth; somehow they were able to talk about everything and nothing; he still knew little about them or their hobbies or even their bird, but everything they said was captivating simply coming from their mouth, and he could see everything he said they were listening carefully; they were very easy to read. Eventually they excused themselves to the bathroom, which reminded Elliot what he’d intended to do earlier that day.

“Elliot, what are you doing?”

He turned away from the kitchen sink, holding a container of bleach. “Oh, just getting some stuff out for later.”

“Cleaning?”

“Oh, uh, no, I’m gonna dye my hair.”

They looked immediately perplexed. “You…you don’t intend to bleach your hair with…with cleaning bleach, do you?”

“Uh…there’s a different kind?”

They stared. “Yes.”

“Oh…I mean, this should work, right?”

They stared longer. “No.”

“Really?”

“Elliot, you are going to hurt yourself.”

“But I-“

“No, no, no,” they shook their head. He resisted the urge to laugh. “Put it down.” He did so. “Under the sink.” He did that, biting back the urge to laugh again. Bloodhound fussing over him because he was about to do something stupid. He couldn’t make it up. They gestured at him to stay there and put on part of their mask-there was a mask part and then a rubber…covering? That hid everything else. But in this case they put on the mask and flipped up their hood, ducking out and coming back a few minutes later with a large container labeled in a language he couldn’t read. “Where’s the dye?”

“Bottom left drawer of the bathroom.”

They got that, then started rifling through his cabinets, grabbing Tupperware and pulling a couple combs and some plastic gloves out of their pockets before, without warning, stripping their coat and trimmings. Elliot whistled. They gave him a sidelong glare and chucked the menagerie at him. The surprise and the weight nearly knocked him over, but when he steadied himself, they were smiling; hands bare and pale, a few small scars peppered around their fingers, muscles accentuated by a well-fitting long-sleeve shirt. _Damn_. “You are asshole.”

He dumped it all in a chair. They tossed their mask on top. “How can you give a show and not expect a man to whistle?”

They rolled their eyes and began rolling up the sleeves; they had quite a lot of freckles. Elliot bet he could connect enough of them to make a dragon. Or maybe a guitar? “Find a chair and sit down.”

He did, putting it by the sink. “I, uh, I guess you’re dying my hair?”

“Yes.”

“It’s almost eleven in the evening?”

They stopped, slowly cocking their head to the side. “What, you have hot date tomorrow?”

_No, but I’ve got one tonight. I, uh, I think. This is a date, right?_ He didn’t remember most of the conversation that afternoon, but knowing he’d say something stupid, Elliot simply sat. This appeared to satisfy the hunter who, with a mission in mind, seemed to have no qualms getting behind him and digging their fingers into his hair. Elliot, equally, held no qualms. He was just trying not to lose his mind, which was very hard once realizing he:

  1. Could feel the heat radiating off Bloodhound and their fingers as they tamed his hair and asked him questions about how he wanted it to look, all while explaining exactly how home-dyeing works, which was info he was never going to retain. And-
  2. Was in his underwear, which wasn’t exactly a big deal since literally everyone in the Legend’s block had seen him naked at one point or another, but the underwear he was wearing was covered in kittens riding in rubber ducky boats. Which were like, totally awesome, but usually third date material. And he’d just been in them since they walked in. They’d never said anything…

Elliot was watching reruns from before he had joined the Games in his underwear with his hair clipped up in a plastic bag and Bloodhound next to him sipping coffee. Neither of them was acting like this was unusual at all. Wraith leaped across the screen, almost six years younger, body rippling with visible electric current as she skidded down a hillside after being side shot by a peacekeeper. It was the first episode of the Games. Elliot remembered watching it at the bar. It was the first time he’d felt excitement in a year. “Hey, Bloodhound?”

“Mm?”

“Where were you when you first saw the Apex Games?”

They blinked, raising their eyebrows. “I…was on Leviathan. Someone was playing it on their porch, tiny little village, everyone was watching.”

“You watched it?”

They shook their head. A timer went off; Elliot washed his hair and let Bloodhound continue with what they were doing. “I thought it was awful. A…glamorization, of a warrior’s death, but without the honor of truly perishing. The kill was celebrated, but not as the victory of a warrior, but the performance of an actor. All this,” they flung their hand, “oh…I don’t know English for it. It was too much.”

_Jesus_. “Oh.”

“I-Well that, that changed,” they stumbled over their words in a way Elliot had never heard before-so quick to correct themselves, worried they’d offend him. He was flattered. “I-I…as they became more popular I came to realize what it-this, these Games, that they…mean so much to those of the Outlands. I…” They hesitated, and Elliot let it drop for the moment. The TV filled in the background as they finished up his hair, wrapping it up again to let the dye do whatever dye did. Elliot decided to pry, just a little, see how quickly he could sink the tiny raft he was floating on.

“You’re not from the Outlands, are you? You’re not even from the Frontier.”

The air stilled. The creak of the chair as Elliot turned sounded like the crack of a tree struck by lightning. The TV was silent, its blue light ghosting over Bloodhound’s back as they stared out the kitchen window; the water was running but they were bracing themselves on the counter. Chunks of hair fallen from their bun and over their ears, almost invisible in the navy-blue night.

“No,” they said softly, “I am not.”

* * *

He stared at himself in the mirror, towel over his head. The Core Systems. It explained so much. Bloodhound, so utterly foreign in a land of refugees and veterans and immigrants. They could only be from the Core, the one place most people of the Frontier would never think of looking. Far away and filled with planets they barely knew the names of, and so, so much harder to get to since Demeter went kablooey too. He removed the towel and combed his hair, taming it into the usual handsome curls, but now with a striking fade from natural to green. He didn’t know anything about the Core despite his mother hailing from the original Earth. He’d have to ask her sometime. Or maybe he’d keep the knowledge from himself, let Bloodhound tell him. Bit by bit. “Well, I’ll say, spontaneous midnight dye-job or not, you did really good!”

A soft chuckle preceded Bloodhound’s arrival. “Thank you.”

“You, my friend, are very welcome!” He grinned, “I mean, this is totally awesome. Salon quality. Better than salon quality.”

“You’ve been to some very bad salons.”

“Nah, this is just really good. I look sexy. I mean, sexier than usual. C’mon,” he turned to them, grin widening, “you can’t deny it.”

They stood just outside the doorway and hid a creeping smile with their hand. “You are silly.”

He leaned on the doorway, arm on either side, aware how the angle made him look, the light framing his back, that he was just a little too close for only friends, that their cheeks were getting a little red. “C’mon, Bloodhound. You did amazing. I think greens my color. No, no, no think, green is _totally_ my color, goes great with my, like, my whole face-“

Without much warning, Bloodhound was kissing him. They pressed their lips against his, not sloppy or intense or passionate; but soft, curious, yet cautious, and confident; it sparked, and it left him slack-jawed. When they spoke, they were still so close their lips brushed against his. “Green _is_ your color.”


	5. Bloodhound Straight Up Butchers A Deer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anita is a bit of a bother; Bloodhound straight up butchers a deer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeet. Hope ya'll still liking it. MIght have to go back and edit previous chapters as I'm beginning to get a storyline together and it shifted a little with the release of the 3rd season (which I'm loving personally). 
> 
> Anyway, thank all for the support and have a lovely day.

“Hey, stranger.”

Bloodhound turned their head, relaxing when they saw Anita. She was always too loud, but at least she’d learned to step quietly. She maneuvered around the beginning of fall leaves and came to sit by them and sip at her water bottle. They glanced over at her. “New leggings?”

“Yeah. Cut down on drag.”

“That matters?” They returned to their scope.

“Yeah. New gun?”

“Nei. Just had it cleaned.”

“You don’t clean your own gun?”

They waved her quiet. Usually they did, of course, they weren’t a child. But they had errands and more money than they knew what to do with. So, they made someone else do it. By the time they finished their errands it had been ready, so they settled a bit of a ways off a public nature trail. It was one of the quieter places in the little town a few miles out from the Apex Tower, which made it ideal for game hunting. Provided chatty Legends didn’t take to visiting; Anita, though, she wasn’t too chatty. Usually. This time she was a blessing; she brought with her the arrival of a doe. She was grazing idly, unaware. Then she lifted her head; before she would even be able to register the sound of fire, she was gone. A clean, quick kill. _Allfather blesses._

Anita, who had been watching the deer, jumped. “Jesus Christ, Bloodhound!”

They nodded to her, but quickly stood and jogged over. The quicker a deer was dressed, the better the meat. Anita leaned on a tree a bit of a ways away making a face. “I don’t know how you do that.”

“With a knife.”

“I mean, there’s a grocery store. Literally over there.” She jerked her thumb behind her. “Right there. Full of food.”

They gestured with their knife, steaming in the cool of an approaching evening. This seemed to especially disturb Anita. “This is food.”

“You’re so goddamn weird.”

Bloodhound shrugged. Anita was a soldier through and through, but she was not a hunter. “That means you say no to a portion of it?”

“…No.”

“Good.” They wondered if Elliot liked deer. If he’d ever eaten it. It wasn’t exactly available in cities in the same way beef or pork was. God, he’d spent ten minutes at two different points in time talking about porkchops. Twenty minutes. About porkchops. The man was weird. They smiled a little to themselves.

“Are you gonna pick the deer up or sit and stare, soldier?”

“Huh?” Oh, right. They had a deer. They stood quickly, hefting the whole thing over their shoulder and carried it to a wagon they’d brought, dumping it and tucking the gun in beside.

“You seem distracted.” Anita fell in step with them. They passed a few people on the path, one of which looked like they might faint when seeing the deer.

They shrugged, though their heart beat a little faster. The walk to their jeep was quick, silent, and full of terrified passerby that tripped to get away from the carcass. Bloodhound loaded it into the back of their jeep and paused. They could see Thunderdome from here. The training grounds…

“Yoo-hoo?” They blinked rapidly, finding Bangalore’s fingers snapping in front of their eyes. “Earth to Bloodhound, come in Bloodhound?” They glanced around and quickly closed up the vehicle, walking around to the driver’s door. “You’re off your groove.”

“Groove?”

“Rhythm. You’re just off, Hound. The hell is going on?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s something.”

“I told you, no.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“No, I am mostly water.”

They could feel her glare on the back of their head. “Seriously.”

Then they slipped up, “you don’t want to hear it.”

She was beside them. “I think I do.”

“You’re,” they hesitated, trying to remember the word in English, “snoopy.”

“I think you mean nosy.”

“Yes! Nosy. You’re very nosy, Anita.”

“Yep.”

They huffed. They had known Anita so many years, and in those so many years she only got nosier and nosier. It’d especially increased since they joined the games and were only a few floors from her at any given moment; she never took advantage of the proximity, it was one of the reasons they still talked to her, but Allfather be damned she could _press_. They responded with nothing, just getting in their car. But she was, of course, leaning on it. They gestured for her to move, but she didn’t. They were at a stalemate.

“Have I ever once gave you any reason to think I’d reveal anything? Spill any secrets?”

They breathed deeply. “Nei.”

“People don’t even know we _know_ each other.”

“Ja.”

“So why the hell are you acting like I’m the plague all of the sudden?”

“Why do you want to know?” They wished she could hear how biting they wanted to sound, but the damned voice modulator just turned it to a growl, and Anita didn’t seem to care.

“Because you’re acting weird, and the last time you acted weird…”

Their face fell. For a moment, they wished Anita had never been there. Had gone into the wind and become the next to be cut through by the bow of life’s ship and left in the wake, an insignificant memory. But at the same time, they knew the reality of it, and reality was this; they would have sunk without Anita. They inhaled deeply and gestured to the passenger seat. If she wanted to know she would have to commit to being in the same car as the deer. To her credit, she did climb in.

The ride back was silent, from the car to the elevator to their apartment. The only person that had ever seen the inside was Anita. And that was only because she’d barged in the moment Bloodhound made Legend to ask what the hell they were doing there. So, as a result, she was the only person they ever brought in.

“Where’s Arthur?” She said.

“He’s out with his friends,” they said, unlocking the door and walking in. Pretty much everything was natural wood, including the butcher block countertop in the kitchen, but the walls were all painted a medium blue, one-way windows and other trim in a darker wood tone. Bloodhound had never been allowed to paint their walls back home and they’d be lying if they didn’t take full advantage of the decoration budget that had come with the floor. They wheeled the deer into the kitchen, set out newspaper, and began butchering.

Anita stood on the other side of the bar, avoiding looking at the actual carcass. “Alright. Tell me.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“It can’t be much worse than watching you butcher a deer in your kitchen, Hound.”

They inhaled deeply, pausing mid slice. “I might have engaged in, uh…well, you know Mirage?”

“Uh, duh? He’s a dumbass.”

“Yes. We kissed.”

Anita’s made a noise like she would have spit if she were drinking water. “You _what_?!”

“We kissed. Well, I kissed him.”

“What do you mean you kissed? Are you an idiot? Throwing your face out-after all the shit you go through to keep your identity, you go and-I mean, _him_-“

“Anita, let me explain-“

“Oh, you’re going to do some explaining!” She leaned backward and grabbed a chair from the dining table and twirled it around, about a foot and a half from the counter Bloodhound was butchering on and sat on it backwards. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, trusting that kid?”

“Kid? Anita, he’s barely five years younger than us.”

“Yeah and it feels like ten. You’ve played with him, he’s – he’s not _trustworthy_; he’s a star-studded half-headed trickster. He’s here for fame and glory and attention. You think he won’t use you?”

They paused, slicing the joint of the deer leg as they exhaled. “Anita, he saved my identity.”

“Yeah, and now he’s got you on a leash.”

“He does _not_,” They said.

“Yeah? Prove it.”

They tossed their hands, blood flying from the knife blade to the cabinets behind them. “How the fokk am I expected to do that in my kitchen?”

She half shrugged. “I dunno. Better figure it out.”

Bloodhound’s cheek twitched. “Okay. I’ll tell you, beginning to end. Minimum the whining.”

“Minimize.”

“Minimize.”

She inclined her head. “Fine. Start.”*

* * *

“I still think you’re batshit,” she said as Bloodhound finished labeling their hunt and tossing all of it in the deep freezer but for the two steaks that were waiting to enter the pan.

“You always do. You’re the reason I keep hearing I’m half bat all the time.” They said.

“I mean, yeah. Confused people. Kind of like how this whole shit with Elliot confuses me. But whatever. I guess, I…” She sighed. “Look I get how it all happened, but I still don’t know about this, Hound.”

“I’m a little unsure,” they admitted, “but the heart is guided as well by Allfather as the head. I am sure his intentions are good. Hard not to tell with him, um, wearing his heart on his arm, ja?”

“Yeah, sure. Heart on his sleeve, brain forgotten on his nightstand.”

“He fights well. And for as noble a purpose as anyone here.”

“Noble? You’re saying that because you’re all gaga.”

Bloodhound had, honest to god, never heard that one before and had to pause mid-placing of steaks in the pan to figure out what it even meant. “I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

They huffed and waved at her disapprovingly, “jæja.”

“No clue what that means, Mx Gaga.”

“It means you are jæja. It means whatever I want it to mean,” they flipped the meat and tended to the potatoes they had cooking in another pan. It wasn’t long before Arthur flew in through the window and landed on the counter, though he squawked and quickly hopped off and to his perch beside the couch, where he chittered with discontent. Bloodhound huffed-damn bird couldn’t stand to get his feet dirty in a little blood. They left the food to quickly wipe it up, loudly complaining to him in their mother tongue. _Look, there is dinner right there, you cretin, why don’t you just go down and eat? Your feet will be dirty anyway_. But Arthur waited until the kitchen was cleaned to go pick the bones left over from the butchering. By that time everything was done and plated and they began eating.

“…Hey, Hound?” Anita finally broke the silence that had come between them, one which Bloodhound had hoped would stay. Nonetheless, they inclined their head her way. “I know you already talked about it but…you’re serious? You are dead serious about that dumbass. You like him. Like, a lot?”

They met her eye, and they thought about it. They did not want to deny it an ounce. They were very frank with themselves; that is to say that yes, they liked Elliot, and yes, they wanted more. How much more they weren’t reliably able to say. But every time they thought of him, they saw his smile and heard his voice and their heart fluttered in a way it hadn’t in over a decade. A _decade_. Ten long years had made Bloodhound a different hunter, and this hunter preferred men who stuttered and gallivanted around unhindered by most perceived convention. Men who did not hesitate to trust and gave no reason not to be trusted. They hadn’t experienced that delicious sensation-total trust, unhesitant trust-in so long. Elliot Witt wasn’t just a different man but a different human. And in no uncertain terms did Bloodhound want to see what that human had to offer. Finally, they replied, “yes.”

Anita took a big breath, reached out, and firmly put her hand on their shoulder. Bloodhound hoped they didn’t look as startled as they felt. “Then I am happy for you. You deserve to smile more.”

“We both do,” they said.

She slipped her hand off their shoulder, chuckling ever so slightly. “Maybe so.”

Bloodhound opened their mouth to attempt comfort but stopped as something out the window caught their eye, and they furrowed their brow. “Is that Leviathan getting…closer?”

Anita looked. The Leviathan took one slow step towards Kings Canyon. Then another, and another until it blocked out the setting sun, leaving only the silhouette of a lone beast.

This could not be good.


	6. We Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An apology; A drink; A breath. Ft. Jordyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A particularly long chapter. I hope no one minds, but I felt it was better as it is than broken up between two. Hope y'all like it, thank you for kudos and bookmarks and reviews, real honored people like this enough to do so. And sorry for being a day late but life y'know. :)

Elliot bent down to grab his work shoes and saw an envelope by the door with his name written in hurried, swoopy writing. _Another fan letter_, he sighed, picking it up. _I’ll have to have security sweep the building again. God, how do the weird ones always get in?_ He opened it anyway, bracing himself for the weird, wondering if it’d enter the “entertainment pile” to be read off drunkenly with Wraith some weekend or another. But his heart skipped a beat when he saw a small but precise sketch of a raven drawn in the corner:

_Elliot, _

_Meet me in the north commons. _

He bit his lip, swallowing hard. A kiss, a compliment breathed so close he could feel the light coming off each word. Another kiss-deeper, sweeter, real and then done, gone, a hurried excuse and he was left with numb lips in his doorway, wondering if he was supposed to chase after them. He’d gone by three times the next day, but they never answered. He left a note; desperate, cliché, wondering. He supposed this was their response. He gently brushed his thumb over the sketch, chewing his lip. He wasn’t quite heartbroken. He wasn’t quite angry. But he certainly wasn’t happy.

_I’ll go_, _if anything I’m getting an apology._ Mama didn’t raise no bitch. He stepped into the elevator and, his curiosity getting the better of him, sniffed the letter-_cause, you know, people put perfume on letters and stuff._ He expected it to smell like nothing, Bloodhound was always so precise. But was surprised; there was coffee and the faint, soft scent of the earth, the woods, and gunpowder. He was more into it than he wanted to be. He cleared his throat and hurriedly shoved the note in his breast pocket just as the elevator doors opened, revealing Arthur, perched on top of a pair of oranges in a fruit basket, staring directly at him. “Oh. Uh, huh. Well, sup?”

Arthur regarded him with mild interest, which was an upgrade from mild annoyance, then turned and flew down the far hallway. Elliot followed and found himself in a corner room he didn’t even know existed. Bloodhound was facing a window that made up the entirety of the wall, strangely out in the open for a meeting like this. Elliot would have expected to meet them at his door before seeing them here. He glanced around, realizing why; they were in a total blind spot, visually and auditorily from the cameras. Yet they were still too public to get in any real argument. _Smart._

They saw him first, freezing. Elliot had gotten used to following the baubles on their mask. They could stand utterly still, but those things always gave them away. “Elliot.”

“Bloodhound.” His voice might have cracked.

“I got your note.”

“I got yours.”

They crossed their arms and glanced downward. Arthur was watching vigilantly from the armrest of a couch. Elliot, unsure what he wanted to do, looked out the window, immediately noticing the giant herbivore way closer to the island than it usually was. “What the hell?”

“Oh-good, it is not just me?”

“What? No, those things are way too close. Like we might need to tell the-“

“I already told the Syndicate,” their voice held bite even through the modulator. “They claim there’s nothing wrong, if anything there was a dip in the system and the Leviathan’s will move on – they’re _daufi_ is what they are.”

Elliot furrowed his brow. “Is that what you called me here about?”

They stepped closer and then looked up just slightly at him. “Yes. But…” they sighed deeply, “I want to apologize.”

“Good,” okay, maybe he was a _little_ angry, “because, seriously, who does that? I-I know this all is kinda odd-but you don’t just ghost me after a kiss like that.”

Their shoulders slumped, Elliot almost felt bad, but at the same time he was pissed and maybe he wanted them to feel a little bad. “I…had to think. I went hunting. Otherwise I…would have answered.”

Elliot huffed. Why were they so hard to be mad at? Maybe it was his stupid heart. They hadn’t ever given it back. “Well, what were you thinking about?”

“Us.”

He swallowed. “And?”

“And…and I don’t know. I…” their modulator almost cut out what they said, they said it so softly, “I like it.”

“I do too.” He liked it a lot. He liked where he thought it was going before they ran off. He liked where it could still go. He liked it so much as quickly as he’d gotten mad he was ready to let that water flow under the bridge and convinced himself he wasn’t the stupid one, they were, and that stupid people got one free “you’re really dumb and bad at communicating” pass per whatever-was-developing-here. “But the question is, what’re we gonna do?”

They paused, looking him up and down. “Why are you dressed like that?”

He looked down. Okay, fair-a polo and slacks weren’t his usual duds. “Work.”

“Where?”

“I own a bar. Paradise Lounge? How do you not-oh, you’ve never been to Solace City. Right. I’m dumb.”

“You’re not.” They said lightly.

And that’s when he figured it out. “We could start there. I-I mean you could come, with me, to the bar. I barely even work, it’s more like I hang around and, you know uh…do bar things.”

They frowned-at least, that was his best guess by their voice. “But I would be recognized.”

He smiled, then leaned low and whispered near their ear, “no one knows what you look like outside of this suit but me, Bloth. It’s our little secret.”

They inhaled shakily, turned their head, the obsidian eyepieces glinting with fading sunlight. “Okay.”

* * *

Elliot didn’t know what he expected Bloodhound to wear, but he was 100 percent certain it hadn’t involved skinny jeans. Yet there they were; skinny jeans, combat boots and a sweater that dipped off one shoulder, so pale a pink it was almost white. Their hair was pulled back in a ponytail and swung behind them like a pendulum. He felt like he was losing his mind. He did, in fact, completely loose it when they stopped in front of him and pulled him into a kiss. Was the parking space in a blind spot or were they just insane? “W-what was that for?”

“An apology.”

“You know, I get the impression you enjoy teasing me.”

Something sparked in their eyes, but they only nodded behind him. “Shall we go?”

“Huh? Oh, right.” They both got in, activated the bridge that connected King’s Canyon to the mainland, and began the drive. The sunset had begun to scatter Solace’s well-known deep purple over the egg yolk colored sky, pink tailing it, just a bit of the red tint from King’s Canyon country. Bloodhound was watching it, leaning so their chin was almost on the dash. Elliot didn’t say anything, just let them absorb it. He felt it was okay to do that, be quiet, with Bloodhound. Most people he couldn’t stand it, especially on a date(?). But they took in everything so completely, it made him see the same sunset he had his whole life with a new appreciation, made his brain work right and process it all. It wasn’t long before the sunset gained indigo and deepened further into almost blackness as they were flanked on either side by great big oaks.

“So, you’ve never been to Solace City before? Ever? Not even passed through?” They nodded. “Well I’m glad you’re seeing it at night, then. I mean, that’s when it looks best. It sits in the middle of this lake-river-thing, and, and with all the lights, it looks like it’s floating in the air.”

They leaned into the window and stretched their legs into the corner. Elliot glanced and saw them looking-no, gazing, at him as they spoke, “that sounds beautiful.”

“It is! When I was a kid my brother-his name w-wa..my brother Vince, he would take me to the top of the Lemon Peel-it’s this wacky looking building, tallest one in the city, he was the security guard-anyhoo, way past my bedtime, Mom had no idea, but we’d just sit there and look at the city. I’d let my legs dangle off the edge, and it was so bright it felt like I was standing on the sun. I…I used to think Solace city _was_ the sun, because it was so bright and everything around it is so dark.” He stopped, swallowed, gripped the steering wheel. “Heh, kinda stupid, huh?”

But when he looked, Bloodhound was shaking their head. He was struck with how tranquil they looked, like a cat on its back in front of a heater. “I grew up in a place that was very cold,” Elliot glanced, trying to contain his surprise, “and dark much of the year. On the first day of summer my sisters would wake me up and drag me, half awake and barely with my coat on, to the highest hill in the village. We would watch the sun rise. I have never felt sun warmer than those mornings.”

“Wow,” Elliot half whispered, slowly turning a long bend, “that sounds amazing.”

“It was. I consider it _gæfa_, luck, that Allfather gave me those who would wish to do so with their littlest sibling.”

“Are you the youngest too?”

They looked up as Solace City came into view, gasping softly. “Yes.”

* * *

Paradise Lounge lived up to its name. The music was not too loud, the chairs did not compromise comfort for fashion, the people were not excessively drunk. It was really a _lounge_. The bar was in the center, holding an infamous amount of liquors; a dance floor to one side and some pool tables, little gambling and board games towards another, TV’s playing (mostly) Apex Games, tables arranged throughout with some lounges in the corners that truly were just comfy (Elliot might have spent a few nights on them before he made Legend). Elliot took pride in providing a chill place for people to have a drink, in contrast to most of the places in Solace City and took even more pride when he saw Bloodhound seemed to like it.

“It’s nice,” they said softly. It was quiet, just the beginning of the evening shift. They slipped their hand into his-rougher than his, but not much so- and he had to bite down his grin so it didn’t get too wide. “I will say, I have never seen so much alcohol in one place.”

Elliot glanced behind the bar. Yeah, they _did_ have to use a ladder to reach half of it. “It’s part of the brand. We have like, every drink you can think of. All of them.”

“I can think of one you don’t have.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

“Always.” They smirked.

Game. On. He brought them to the counter, just as one of his bartenders and one of his oldest friends, Jordyn, came from the other side. He waved. “Hey Jordyn, what’s up man?”

“Nothing much, bro. Nathan’s just picking stock up for the rush, should be in about an hour…” he looked at Bloodhound and smirked. “Oh no, is this girl crazy too?”

Elliot was about to correct him when Bloodhound reached across, offering their hand. They changed their accent, sounding very distinctly German as they said, “I’m Jaime. And I am as crazy as he is.”

Jordyn laughed, shaking their hand. “Well it’s good he met his match. Drive him up a wall for me, will you?”

“With pleasure.” They sounded like they were insinuating something with that tone, but if Elliot opened his mouth right now all that would come out is defensive babble. “Tell me, do you have brennevin?”

Jordyn thought a moment and shrugged. “I can check our list?”

“Please.” He slipped away, Bloodhound leaning on the counter, quietly beckoning Elliot over, pulling him in close, speaking into his ear, “I prefer they, but I am fine with other pronouns too. Jaime has always been what I use for either.”

Elliot swallowed, relaxing now that Jordyn was no longer available to list all his sexcapades to them. “Good to know. I meant to ask.”

“I should have said something.” They smiled a bit. “Besides, being one or the other puts some distance between Bloodhound and Jaime, no?”

Elliot smiled. “No. Wait, I mean yes.”

They chuckled, sidling up to him so they were shoulder to shoulder. “Now, why would he suppose I am crazy?”

“I’ve made mistakes.”

“Uh huh. What kind of mistakes?”

“The kind that key my car.” He winced. “Twice.”

“Elliot.”

“Hey, it was all her faul-“

“Is this it?” Jordyn appeared again, holding a weird neon green bottle Elliot had never seen before. Bloodhound seemed to forget entirely about his stupidity and flat out grinned, beckoning him over. The two veteran bartenders didn’t know how to serve it, but Bloodhound said it was quite simple-cold, as a shot. So, Jordyn poured them all one and they downed it simultaneously. Bloodhound seemed quite pleased and began pouring themselves another shot while Jordyn banged his forehead on the counter and Elliot coughed to the side, because it tasted like black licorice and death. “What the h-hell is this shit?” Jordyn smacked his lips.

“Brennevin!” Bloodhound exclaimed with glee, the roll of the r almost enough to make Elliot forgive them for not warning him. Almost.

“Yo, I’m an alcoholic but lady, you’re insane. Mad respect.”

Bloodhound just smiled at him-they were almost _bubbly_. Elliot made a mental note to order more of the liquor. “It is not to everyone’s taste. It’s also called Black Death.”

Jordyn looked amused. “Well, uh, nice to meet you, but I’m gonna get ready for the rush. Enjoy your death.”

“I will!” Bloodhound said without a hint of irony, taking their third shot and giggling. They offered more to Elliot, but he quickly shook his head. He would not enjoy his own death. He put his hand over their glass after their fourth shot.

“Hey, slow down, okay?” He half laughed. “I didn’t bring you here to drive you back in a half hour.”

They were brimming like a cauldron of bubbly giggles and could hardly contain themselves enough to cap the bottle. “R-Right, right, I’m sorry. I just haven’t had this in so long.”

“I’ll order more for you.”

“Is that your plan to get me to come back?”

“Will it work?”

They giggled, leaning over the bar and putting the bottle in the storage underneath. “Maybe.”

Elliot smiled. They were…_cute_. He got up and lightly led them away as the rush came in, smoothly dodging questions, granting smiles and a few selfies; he usually ate this up every time he was at the bar, date or not, but this time his mind was firmly elsewhere. He still lost Bloodhound, who was apparently a master of the vanishing act themselves, finding them at the pool tables. They were kicking some kids ass and turned to him, poking his chest with the tip of the cue. “Care to play, _vinur_?”

“Care to lose, uh, comrade?”

They snorted and tossed him a cue. Elliot took the opportunity to absolutely destroy them. You don’t win beer-pool champion all four years of college without being good at the pool part too. Bloodhound, visibly annoyed, challenged him again, and again lost. Their cheek twitched. Elliot practically pranced over, leaning over their shoulder with a mischievous grin. “Oh, hey sweetheart, it’s okay. Sometimes you just gotta suck at something, doncha?”

And that’s when something shifted in them-something in their eyes, a glint perhaps. “Let’s make a bet.”

“Ooooh, lil’ bit of spicy gambling? Isn’t that a sin?”

“Pha, perhaps for you. Gambling is no sin in the eyes of Allfather; simply an addition to a test of skill, something in which one can take pride in their victory,” they smoothly turned, pressing the pool cue just below his adams apple. “And I take my pride very seriously, trickster.”

He backed up and put his index finger on the end of the cue, lowering it. “Oh yeah? Alright, I’ll happily round-wownd-wourned-I’ll hurt your pride all night long, babe, you don’t even have to ask nicely.”

They scoffed and motioned for him to wait, returning with an entire bottle of fireball and a regular water glass. They filled it about halfway. “The defeated shall drink it all in one go.”

“Pha, that’s easy.”

They raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and filled it further, probably at an “instant liver death” level. But Elliot was ready and, keeping to his tradition of not listening to his own head, agreed to the wager. “Best two out of three?”

“Indeed. But, to be fair, take four shots. I’ve had as many.”

Elliot paused before agreeing, taking his shots and smiling as he racked up the balls. “Losers go first.”

He could see that irked them and watched them mess up their first shot, somehow sending nothing but the white ball into the pocket. They gripped their stick hard as he sent a striped ball in, then another two, and another one after that, doing an impressive ricochet off the wall and into a corner pocket. He readied up his next shot, looking up and seeing Bloodhound seething. “Aw, you’re kinda cute when you’re angry, you know that?”

They bared their teeth like they were about to growl, then bit that down and crossed their arms. Elliot missed the next shot, but it didn’t matter. Bloodhound got two balls in before screwing up again, and Elliot won that round. They went again, Bloodhound muttering, and Elliot enjoying every bit of this, yawning before taking a trick shot. _Maybe you’re the best hunter in the Outlands, but you’re not the best pool player. _

He was two balls away from winning when he realized he’d been played. That anger, that snarl on their lips disappeared, replaced by that focus he’d seen so often in the Games. They aimed their cue between two balls, hit, and sent each into opposing corner pockets. Aim, shoot, another one in, and then again another. The last three balls were so easy it was a joke. And then the 8 ball. Elliot set his jaw while they grinned, pouring themselves a shot and raising it to him with a giggle. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you pout.” 

They downed it, racked up the balls and let him go. Mojo now down the drain-o, he only got two in before it was their turn. Just to make a point, he supposed, they took another shot and started hitting balls, lightly hip bumping him as they made a show of going around the table to take out a ball. He raised an eyebrow at them, biting down a smirk. If it wasn’t for the pauses and the slight lean to their stance when they aimed, Elliot would have assumed they were sober. Oh, and the giggling. He did get a turn, got three in, and then hit in the white ball. They won.

Elliot, ever a man of his word, flipped them off with one hand and drank the whiskey with the other. It burned his throat and his nose and his eyes a little, but it went down like water. They clapped slowly, leaning against the opposite pool table. “A valiant fight, _dúkka_”

“You’re an _asshole_,” he said.

“What is it you say? Sore loser?” They brimmed like a boiling pot with giggles, poking him in the chest.

It was at this moment they both realized the bottle was almost gone, and, hey, what the hell? So they passed it between each other, Elliot feeling everything come on stronger and stronger, Bloodhound leaning more and more, until Elliot got the bright idea to drag them on the dancefloor, both giggling like schoolgirls and dancing sort of in the corner, the crowd big enough they could hide in it. Elliot had questionable footwork, reasonably sure he was starting to see a third foot between the lights and the whiskey, but this didn’t stop him from holding them, from bringing them to his chest, from kissing their cheek. But Elliot wasn’t in the lead too long.

They kissed his jaw. They sent kisses down his neck, tingling little pecks and a surprise nibble. He twirled them, somehow, delighting in their laugh as he pulled them back in too hard and they knocked a bit like marbles. This was awesome, holy shit, he felt _great_. He had them close now, slipped his hands down, he played with the hem of their sweater, his hand was on the bare small of their back-their real, actual skin. He felt like he was winning the sexy hot dance lottery. They grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss, messy and drunk and licorice-flavored. And a little too long, as they stopped dancing. This didn’t suit the rhythm of the floor, leading to someone smacking into Elliot or into Bloodhound, he wouldn’t remember, and knocking their teeth into each other. They ricocheted, running into other people. Elliot cursed, looking up, and saw Bloodhound looking at him, and started laughing.

“Let’s move,” they said, mirroring his joy with their hand still over their mouth, taking his hand with their other.

“Where?” He asked, giggling as they pulled him along to the dimly lit corner. He slipped into the lounge and they straddled his lap and pulled him into one of the hottest kisses he’d had in a goddamn while. If he wasn’t breathless before, he was now. His hands were up over their back, following the curve of their spine. At some point, they’d untucked his shirt and were running their hands over his stomach. He looked up at this person he’d hardly known a couple weeks ago, this person who was a package of terrifying might and terrifying beauty, a secret to the entire goddamn world except for him, and he felt something stir. They dipped down and kissed him again, pressing themselves into him, hot and sweating in the heat of the bar, a million people acting as their soundless backdrop. When they moved toward his neck he pulled them back, looked at them. Their mouth hanging open slightly, chest heaving. “What _are_ we?” He whispered, feeling like he was breathing steam.

They inhaled sharply, like they’d forgotten to think about it, until they pushed their lips against his again, cupping his face with cold stinging hands and whispered, “_serendipity_.”


	7. Cigarettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad habits; Good people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw. Thanks again to those that have left kudos and comments and just for reading too. Y'all are dolls
> 
> *Minor edit was made to Wraith's line of dialogue when she and Elliot are having dinner

The first morning was rather peculiar for them both. Bloodhound because, frankly, they never _did_ this sort of thing, even though it had become their goal the moment they put on the skinny jeans. Elliot because, when he came to see if Bloodhound had finally woken up at about 1 in the afternoon, he found them on his floor, tangled in his bedspread, having fallen approximately three feet without stirring. Figuring this a sign, he left them to sleep. They didn’t get up for another hour. Once they did things were, well, awkward, but it did not last long as both recognized, somewhere, that this wasn’t a one-time thing. Also, they were able to focus most of their conversation on figuring out how they got home and ignore everything else (Jordyn called a cab.)

The next morning was two days later and hot and sober and fantastic. Then another, in three days, a sleepy morning where they woke up at the same time, facing each other, curled in a ball of warmth. Arthur had found his way in this time and was nesting in the small circle between their bodies, noticeably leaning on Bloodhound, but Elliot took it as a compliment he was even that close to him. They kissed, a soft pressing of lips quite unlike the breath-stealing snogging they’d been engaging in on sight. Bloodhound considered it Allfather’s blessing they hadn’t been put on the same team yet, because even they questioned if they’d be able to contain themselves properly.

By now, no one questioned Bloodhound sitting at Elliot’s table. They all thought it was very strange, yes, but the consensus was Bloodhound had decided he and Wraith were amusing. This consensus was right-they _did _find him amusing. And cute, and handsome, and, as he’d taken to calling them, _a total babe, babe._ The only one that really knew anything was Anita. But she behaved herself, or so they thought. They were in the middle of making out on the couch when Elliot, his brain ever wandering, took the chance at a natural break to say, “Hey, do you like, know Bangalore at all? Like uh, personally?”

They dropped down to their elbows, laying on top of him. “What did she do?”

“She, um, might’ve cornered me and threatened to castrate me with her bare hands. Which I didn’t think was possible, but apparently, I was mixing it up with cauterized. Like, cas-trate, caus-trate, which isn’t a word, I guess. Anyhoo, she seemed kind of worried I was blackmailing you.”

Bloodhound sighed. “I do know her. She doesn’t like you much.”

“Yeah, which is, you know, crazy ‘cause everyone likes me.”

They held back their snort, reaching out to the fading green of his hair. “I confess, we have known each other for many years. I tend to bump into her.”

“Huh. Has she always had no sense of humor?”

They wiggled their way up and wedged themselves between him and the back of the couch, content with the break. He petted their head, and had they the ability, they would have purred. “More or less. You get a chuckle out of her sometimes.”

“Then why does she hate me?”

“She thinks you’re an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot,” he whined, throwing his head back to draw it out.

“Mm,” they patted his chest. “No, of course not.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Never.”

_Bloth_. He spoke it so tenderly. No one had ever called them Bloth. Hound, Bloodhound, BH. Bebe. But Bloth had not been a name they heard; they thought it sometimes, a word resident to their head; but Elliot had been the one to breathe it into their heart. A moan, a whisper, hot against their ear as he crept up behind them, pressed against them and pulled them from dishes they insisted on doing, since he cooked, and if they were honest it sort of annoyed them to leave them unfinished. But they would let him pull them away from anything if it meant they got to hear that name. _Bloth_.

Bloodhound liked when he wore turtlenecks. They fit him nicely, accentuated his waist, the lean build of his body, the dip of his back, the muscles they liked to kiss. Most importantly, they were fun to tug the neck down and flash the little red welts that perpetually peppered his neck. It was never anywhere people could see them; a pass in the hall, a moment in the elevator that they posed to look like they were just switching Arthur from one arm to the other. It annoyed him. It pleased them. They called them love bites. He called them hickies.

“What do these mean,” he asked, tracing the invisible line from their chest to their naval that their tattoos followed. They shivered and he did it again, just to be cheeky.

“Different things,” they said softly. This was not a morning, but an evening. It was pitch black, and the window was streaked with rain droplets. The Games had been cancelled for the week because of the flash flood-they happened badly enough on Solace to cancel the Games at least a few times a year.

“Good things?”

“Yes.” They were laid half on their side, propping their head up with their hand. They held the other over his now, bringing it to the start-a set of three triangles, bound together, never-ending. “This is the _valknut_. It is so old its meaning is almost lost. But it deals with Allfather. And with death.” They guided his finger down, giving themselves goosebumps. “Here is Thor’s Hammer.”

“I’ve heard of that.”

They smiled softly. He curled closer, shoving his blanket covered legs between theirs as they turned completely on their side. “Some of my culture has lived beyond me for thousands of years. Thor’s hammer is one of many. It is used in much fiction, but in my reality, it is a symbol of strength, protection, of consecration and the importance of custom and tradition. And of marriage.”

“Marriage?”

“Ja. It goes with the consecration part it, uh, blesses marriages and births.” They thought of the hall at home, the dozen drums with the hammers, shined each month and dusted each day, thought of how loud they had sounded, how the rumble had remained in their chest for three days. “There’s a ceremony. Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Elliot said, sounding like he wanted to hear more.

“This,” they went down again, a shiver running up their spine, to a circle, with eight pitchfork shaped prongs coming from the center and two lines through them. “is, in English, the Helm of Awe. Protection and might in battle. But for the individual. It’s rather selfish, but,” they found themselves chuckling, “I’ll take all protection I can get.”

“Fair.”

Finally, they moved his hand to the last tattoo, where he spread out his fingers, brushing his thumb over it. It was similar to the Helm, but its prongs were six, each with a different top, forming a square. “The _vegysir_. A younger symbol. Not entirely fitting but…it is to help one find their way when lost. I figured it would do me more good under my skin than drawn in the dirt.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever gotten lost?”

“Nei.” Yes. In the past. Stupid _vegvisir_. 

“Well I guess it works,” he kissed their chest, paused for a moment, and then lightly pressed his finger on the bridge of their nose. “Where’d you get the scar?”

They pulled his mouth to theirs, letting him melt, letting themselves meld and puddle as the agreement was met. _Another time_, they thought as the rain began to thunder in tune with their heart. Because they knew there would be another.

* * *

Wraith was over for dinner-porkchops, of course. Bloodhound was out hunting. Elliot was wearing a turtleneck, as he so often did nowadays, when he bent over and craned his neck to look at the babies in the oven. Deciding they were done, he grabbed an oven mitt and pulled them out. When he turned, Wraith was smirking. “What?”

“So, how long you two been fuckin’?”

Of course, she’d waited till he was drinking water; he was only thankful he was by a sink. “Excuse me?”

“Hickie-dickie ding dong. Voices said something was up, but I thought you were still dancing around like an idiot.”

He huffed, feeling the back of his neck. “When I bent over?”

“Yep.”

He waved his hand over the porkchops, realizing he hadn’t made them for Bloodhound yet. He made a mental note and waved Wraith over to serve herself as he began loading his own plate. “A…few weeks, I think. “

“You think?”

“I don’t keep a sex journal.” _Anymore_.

She raised an eyebrow but inclined her head, taking a coke from the fridge. “Fair. What have you found out?”

_They like to bite_, he thought. “They know Anita. Like, know her. Like, I think they’re kind of friends.”

“Huh. You know, they do tend to train together more than anyone else.”

“Never thought of it.” They took their plates to the couch, curled into their respective sides. The television was playing ancient Christmas specials. It was October. “But they’ve known her for years.”

“Mm,” Wraith’s moan was practically sexual as she took her first bite of the porkchop. Elliot took it as his due. “Anything else?”

He was looking at his plate, the words sparking an image in his mind; Bloodhound, naked, washing their hair in his sink. It was the second night they’d ever spent over. They couldn’t figure out his shower. He couldn’t remember when he stopped laughing. “Their favorite color is blue, the dark kind. They have sisters. I don’t know how many, but they love them so much.” He stared at a forkful of potatoes, smiling softly. “We’re both the youngest. They can draw, though I’ve only seen one picture. They believe in ghosts. And Gods. They said they’d explain it to me some time.”

Wraith was quiet, watching him over her coke. Slowly, the corners of a smile showed around her drink. “So, those _feelings_ are just getting worse huh.”

He stopped, fork hovering with the same cold scoop of potatoes. He put the fork in his mouth, quiet. Because she was right.

* * *

Bloodhound had finally felt sane enough to leave for a weekend on a hunting trip. A proper one, further than the confines of the local park (they might have also been banned from that local park). The Leviathans were still moving. Circling like vultures, testing the confines of an invisible fence. Bloodhound worried every day, but that didn’t change the Syndicate’s decision to ignore them. So, they gave themselves time, time from Elliot, time from the beasts, into the woods. Their jeep parked as far in as it would go, half covered in leaves. They wore their standard uniform from the Games, a uniform they had worn long before on the regular and had a pack and their bird. Arthur scouted ahead and found a small almost-clearing in the tightly woven birch forest. They had no trouble clearing one, two, three little trees, digging up their stumps and setting them aside before building their campsite.

The trees became firewood, the excess of which they had every intention of putting in their jeep for later use. They wandered a while, finding evidence of bear nearby and stored their food accordingly. They weren’t interested in bear. The meat was too variable; it was heavily flavored by what they last ate. A bear that had been eating berries would taste very good, almost sweet. But if it had found fish, it would taste fishy. And fishy fish was fine, fishy bear was a meal they considered a last resort, next to most insects.

* * *

The price of a good meal was washing the dishes, and Wraith did this every time without any complaint. No one ever complained, because Elliot was a good cook. Great if it included porkchops, but good otherwise. Hearty, filling, flavorful, if simple. His baking was palatable, but he pretended he didn’t need to improve because it kept him from eating too many sweets. As he reached into his cupboard and pulled out one of those big value bags of assorted chocolate like one finds in the grocery store, he decided it was for Bloodhound’s sake as well. Apparently, the hunter had a sweet tooth. He looked in the bag. A very bad sweet tooth.

* * *

Bloodhound liked birch forests because they could see the stars so easily. The tall, skinny trees had spotty leaves, and those spotty leaves were just the thing to show off the universe’s greatest creations. Sometimes they would sit there in the dirt and wonder how far the universe would go. All to do with Allfather taught of an inevitable end, one which had been on the back burner for several millennia, that of Ragnarok. As all children, the idea used to scare Bloodhound. But now it was simply part of life. And of their afterlife, whenever that happened. They were prepared for their end. But they did find themselves more and more, as of late, hoping it would postpone itself.

Sometimes, on nights like this, beside a campfire crackling, half under a tent in open air and fresh Earth, they’d allow themselves to wonder if that end would _ever_ happen. Their end, certainly. It could happen in the next five minutes. The next second. (Very likely, considering how much chocolate they were eating as they stargazed). But the end of everything, all creation, all nine worlds and that within them? They were not sure. _Fenrir is a strong bastard_, their father had said, _but he is also a þrótt-lauss bitch to be stuck by a ribbon all these years._

* * *

Wraith had left a half hour ago. The TV buzzed with nothing important. The vodka did not mix well with the rest of the bag of candy. When he looked out the sky was black, and the rain was pattering. He wondered if Bloth was getting soaked. They’d been out there three days-the morning would mark four. He opened the sliding glass door, let the cold rush in and make him shiver. He stared at the fog on his window but couldn’t bring himself to write in it. Under a ceramic frog on the balcony was a pack of cigarettes. In the false bottom of the top left drawer of a cabinet repurposed for gardening and stolen from his mother was a lighter. He lit the cigarette before putting it in his mouth, watching the light stand against the invisible sky like a cragged firefly. He felt like impulsively shoving the lit side into his mouth.

He turned it and put the filter between his lips, feeling the sweet nicotine and the coarse smoke. It was like a blanket being pulled over his eyes to keep the monsters away. It made his head stop running. It made his body relax. It made his reflexes slow like a train coming up to station. This was probably the reason he didn’t react when he saw a hand grab the ledge of the balcony, and only raised his eyebrows as Bloodhound pulled themselves up and sat. They stared at each other. Bloodhound removed their mask. Their hair was almost invisible in the night. Their face was lit softly by yellow lamplight and orange firelight. Like a painting.

“You smoke?” They said.

He sucked on the cigarette, smoke wispily sailing from the corners of his mouth, then pouring as he opened it. “You’re back already?”

They smiled, gesturing at the cigarette. Surprised, Elliot came out to pass it to them. They drew from it, holding it downward to shield it from the rain. The droplets splashed against his cheeks; his hair began to sag. “I was rained out.”

“I’m not surprised.” He watched them take another drag; slow, deliberate and savoring. Why did he always find the baddest habits to be the hottest? “But, uhm, door?”

“I paid Anita a visit. I wanted to see if I could get up here.”

He thought about the drop, mouth slightly open. Bloth placed the cigarette back in his mouth, lips automatically closing around it. “Are you okay?”

“I think it is one of those nights.” They said and slid off the railing. By this point he was soaked through and really had no idea why he hadn’t moved back under the overhang. “You…?”

“Never thought you’d smoke.” He pulled the last bit of life from the cigarette and brought the butt in with him. He didn’t care he was leaving wet footprints all over his carpet.

“An old habit,” they said quietly, leaving their boots outside. “Elliot, what is wrong?”

“Nothing.”

They snorted. “Now who’s bad at communication?”

_Alright, yeah, you have that_. He wanted another cigarette. He wanted to burn his tongue. But them being there was starting to get to him, in a good way. “H-Hey look, I’m sorry-I’m really happy you’re back it’s just…Wraith left and uh…my…” he glanced up, into those intense blue eyes that had first brought a bumbling confession from him not even two months ago and swallowed to keep a whole one coming up again. “One of my brothers went MIA tobay-tokay-look, I don’t wanna think about it, but I started thinking, and then w-w-whun-when I start thinking my head starts malfuncontinu-mafunktion-starts breaking.”

The immediate softening of their face, the brushing of their own wet hair behind their ear-it was enough to melt a man’s heart. And for a man like Elliot, it melted his cold, shivering body from head to toe. They came over and pulled off their glove before gently touching an ice-cold hand to a warm cheek that leaned into it like a pillow. “You need a bath,” they said.

He needing a bath became them needing a bath, but not in their usual sense. Usually, nakedness led to naughtiness, but neither were in the mood. They were in the steamy bathroom, one on either end of the oversized clawfoot tub with their arms up over the edges because neither was tall enough to reach the other side of the goddamn thing. They were smoking again. Elliot watched his breath dance across the water in swirls. “When was your first cigarette?”

“I was twelve.” They said. “I stole it from one of my sisters.”

“Damn. I was fifteen.” He smiled a little. “Stole it from my mother. Never got in trouble because that meant she’d have to admit to having them.”

“Oh, my mother found me out and I blamed my sister. I, as you say, got off scot-free.”

He rolled the cigarette around to the other side of his mouth. “You were a little shit.”

“Oh, without doubt.” They grinned with a little too much satisfaction at that. “It was not bad, the habit, until I,” they paused, “met Anita.”

“That explains some stuff.”

“Yes. I quit.”

“So, did I,” Elliot said around the cigarette. “Ever tried getting her to?”

They held up their arm where a thin line went halfway down their forearm. “Once.”

“Damn. She’s crazy.”

“Yes. She’s better now, or so I have heard.” They set their cigarette to rest on the small shelf built into the wall and gestured for him to swim over, which he did, setting his cigarette beside theirs as they began finger-combing his hair. “This needs fixed.”

“I thought maybe yellow this time.”

“Yellow is a nice color.”

He turned and kissed them for the first time that night, musing how the acidic taste didn’t matter too much if you were both puffing like a couple of chimneys. Alright, they’d only had the additional one half of a cigarette, but still. He propped himself up a bit on one knee, intending to ruffle their hair as a sort of joke, but stopped and poked the part. “Is that blonde?”

They groaned. “I’ll have to touch it up.”

“You dye your hair?” He gasped, pulling at the part to see very distinct flaxen-golden? Blonde hair, his entire mind rewiring.

“…Yes? Do you think I have hair bleach for fun?”

“I don’t know! But I didn’t know you were blonde!”

They rolled their eyes as he came back to their level. “Well, now you do.”

“You should grow it out or dye it back or whatever you do. I wanna see.”

They sat up, arms still on the sides of the tub in a way that made their muscles pop, the line of deep blue tattoos wavering in the water. “You’re a pest, Elliot Witt.”

He was beaming again, his mind thoroughly distracted, his hands on their shoulders and the words said before he realized what they meant. “But I’m _your _pest.”

They stopped. Their head cocked to the side. He wasn’t sure if it was sweat or water droplets on the back of his neck. “Are you?”

“Yes.” He said, firmly, though he felt the nerves coat the back of his throat like peanut butter. He could barely swallow, let alone breathe. But as they leaned in, he stood his ground. “Yes I am.”

“Well, then,” they whispered, “seems I’m yours.” Then they dunked him underwater, laughing as he came up sputtering. The cigarettes lay on the shelf, forgotten.


	8. Fuck the Oligarchy Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An altercation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was mostly split due to length, so the next chapter will be out this coming Tuesday (November 26th) just so I can continue to have time to edit and write further chapters. 
> 
> But wanted to give a hearty thank you to everyone commenting, kudo-ing, and just viewing and reading! You're all half the reason I write and I love that I can create something other people seem to love so much. 
> 
> So, without further ado, 
> 
> fuck the oligarchy.

The Official was a wiry kind of fellow, with a large nose and larger ears and the sort of sour look on his face that made him resemble a pinched lemon. All Legends were gathered in the cafeteria at the usual time, though with special order that everyone be present. The special order wasn’t necessary, as literally everyone was there every day anyway, but nonetheless they’d all received the message.

“A change is coming to the Games,” the Official said in a voice far too big for him, “and we expect everyone to comply. Firstly, your jobs are not in any sort of danger.”

“That’s reassuring,” Elliot said flatly. He didn’t like the Officials. They were a bunch of panty-wadded pencil pushers, puppets of which the Syndicate had let a few too many strings get loose.

“For the continuation of the Games,” he continued, “the Syndicate has decided that the Legend residency will not longer have a limit of 10. For many reasons including variety, moral, ratings and otherwise, the Syndicate has chosen to add a new Legend each season-“ there was immediate complaint that the Official raised their voice over, “-and reduce the workweek by 1 day. Your pay and benefits will not be affected.”

Before anyone could think too much, Anita exclaimed, “Being a Legend means nothin’ if you’re going to add some FNG every damn season!” Elliot, for once, agreed with her. Judging by the murmur going around, everyone else did too. “This is bullshit.”

“The door is that way, Ms. Williams,” the Official said. She set her jaw. The other Legends grew quiet too, glancing between each other. Legends were valuable, some more than others, but not irreplaceable. And Anita was one of the Legends who could least afford to lose her place. She was trapped. The Official’s face stretched into a grin, the grin of a man who would skip his kid’s birthday party to see someone like Anita squirm under his thumb. “It is settled, then. The new Legend goes by the name “Octane”. He will arrive here in a few minutes. Play nice.”

“Bastard,” Anita muttered as the Official left. Elliot felt a bad taste in his mouth, white knuckling his sleeves as he thought about socking him right in the face, a good old uppercut. Nothing need be said, but Gibraltar, ever the metaphorical father of the Legends, patted Anita’s back gently. “They’re assholes. Let’s just not blame the new guy.”

There was a murmur of agreement. It wasn’t long before the new guy did show up, in his full gear that included goggles and a mask and a crop top vest(?), and weird ports at intervals down either side of his torso. His biggest feature, however, was his metal legs. Ajay leaped from her table as soon as she saw him. “You asshole!”

“Che! Amiga, how are you?”

“How am I? Better before I saw you here!”

The young man pulled down his mask and removed his goggles; he had startlingly pretty hazel eyes, Elliot was maybe a bit jealous, a large, slightly hooked nose and a wide grin. When he opened his mouth, one could see the silver stud in his tongue. “I would have told you, but you would yell at me.”

“I thought you were surfing or some’tin!”

“I was. During off hours.”

Ajay glared and punched him hard in the shoulder. He flinched, still grinning as he rubbed his arm and nodded to the assembled group. “Hola, everyone. It’s great to join the Legends.”

“Octavio Silva,” Ajay said to everyone, punching his other shoulder. “Heir to Silva Pharmaceuticals and a complete moron.”

Gibralter raised an eyebrow. “And how long have you known him?”

“Too long,” she said with some amount of distress, to which Octavio laughed before jumping ahead with introductions, having absolutely no reservation pestering everyone individually. Elliot wouldn’t call him a fanboy, but he was both knowledgeable and curious, mostly pressing to see if any of the rumors held truth. Elliot was ready to be questioned when he started heading to his table, but the bell sang the song of the beginning of the Games. On the dropship he went, and somehow, he and Bloodhound both ended up with this new wildcard, which would mark the first time they’d been on the same team in Eons. To top it off, the game would be livestreamed because of the new Legend.

“Whaddya think of this new guy?” Elliot muttered to Bloth in the relative privacy of the dropship. He wished they had Wraith. At least then he could have flirted a little behind a tree.

“Energetic.” Is all they said.

When they dropped, they found out just how energetic he was. In the time it took Elliot to loot some basic armor and a P2020 with maybe 20 ammo, he had found two great guns on the other side of Runoff, plenty of ammo, a mid-tier shield and a couple health packs. To top it off, he started doing laps out in the open because Bloodhound and Elliot were “_so slow_”. They all made it to the sniping tower outside of Bunker, at which point Bloodhound looked over when Octane returned from scouting. “Is that stim?”

“Huh? Oh yeah.” He twirled the empty syringe and tucked it in a pack on his hip, next to where he seemed to pop them out.

Bloth seemed truly confused when asking, “where did you get that?”

“I’m the heir to the biggest pharmaceutical company in the Frontier? Real easy, compadre.”

“How are you-“

“This, it’s a dialysis machine.” He patted his other hip, where a cylinder resided. “Filters my blood so I can just, you know, keep goin’.”

Elliot had heard of stim-big deal among pilots, made them practically superhuman. But it had to be used very sparingly to even survive. It explained the speed boost, but even with the machine the whole situation was boggling his mind. “So, if that thing breaks?”

“Death’ll be quick. If I’m lucky, it’d break when I’m headed off a cliff and I can do a flip.”

Elliot and Bloodhound shared a look. Bloodhound settled down to snipe. Besides the livestreaming, the Games were no different; there would be a stream for each Legend, and the main stream that would flit to whatever was interesting. Elliot thrived off of it. The knowledge that he was getting all the attention simultaneously, that people were watching him, live, walk and talk and shoot and triumph and loving it as much as him. It was a high no drug could match-and Elliot knew, he’d tried most of them. It made not being able to drive Bloodhound up a wall a little better.

Octane was a good distraction, too. The kid could _move_, and he did. Constantly. With him willfully acting as bait one, two, three squads fell to Bloodhound’s longbow and Elliot’s wingman, and Octavio’s R99. He didn’t seem very concerned with kills, though.

“The thrill of the chase,” Bloodhound noted to Elliot, “though I do not think I have witnessed thrill in _being _chased. Very _ný-lunda_.” Elliot nodded, careful to lean on a post a good few feet from Bloodhound. Octane yelled excitedly in Spanish below. When they had to move he threw a jump pad. Elliot decided he liked the kid when he threw two in a row so they could double bounce.

* * *

Elliot was buzzing with the feeling of a strong, satisfying win-on livestream!- when he saw something that made him say, “what the hell?” and lean toward the window at the end of the bench. Bloodhound leaned with him, and soon Octane was leaning as well, giving the impression of three curious birds on a branch. The tower did not look any different physically, but it had been re-ordered, which never happened before the end of the season. Anita, who had been below Elliot that morning, was now dead last. Below even Caustic. Elliot shook his head, thinking maybe he saw the banner wrong, but it did not flicker.

“Uh, those aren’t supposed to do that, right?” Octavio said.

“Correct,” said Bloodhound, with a certain, almost undetectable edge to their voice. “I do not like casting blame, _felagis_, but I believe this is the work of that Official.”

“I can’t believe someone can have such a micropenis he has to pull this to make himself feel better. Jesus, and she lost bad today, too.” Elliot, in a very rare moment, felt bad for Anita; her feed had been about one of the ugliest plays he’d seen in the last two seasons. Between the livestream and the tower, she could lose sponsors, and Anita needed them more than almost anyone.

The tower was not fixed in a few hours, like everyone thought it would be. It was not fixed by the next day, either, even with everyone absent during the game. It seemed that the Official wanted Anita to not just squirm but suffer. And, though gossip articles ran away with their theories, both in and out of favor of Anita, no other Official or the Syndicate seemed intent on stepping in. On the third day Wraith whispered to him that Anita had lost two sponsors; Bloodhound disappeared for hours after Elliot mentioned this to them in the dropship on the way back. He later came out of the shower to find them on his couch in their Game clothes with a water glass of whiskey. “They’re all nameless, aren’t they?”

“One of the rules,” Elliot said, rubbing his hair dry. “Something about protecting them. I’m just surprised the Syndicate hasn’t done anything.”

“You told me drama makes money, yes? Good or bad. Free publicity. This is big drama…”

“So big money,” Elliot sighed.

“I hate this place,” they muttered. Elliot was going to try and be, he didn’t know, encouraging? Or sympathetic or just there, but when he got close, he felt the inside of his nose twist into a knot. “Babe, please shower. Immediately.”

“Oh, right.” They went past him, rolling their eyes with the slightest of smiles as Elliot mimed fainting from the smell.

* * *

“Sure you don’t wanna come?” Elliot looked at Bloodhound through the mirror while adjusting his scarf. They were sprawled on their back, like a starfish, on his bed. They wore a shirt that was three sizes too big for Elliot as a nightgown. “Ajay always has an open invitation for you.”

“I do not go to parties. Besides, I am tired. That Octane-Octavio? He’s so…_fast_.”

“I know.” He patted his pockets, repeating _testicles, spectacles, wallet and watch_ mentally, grabbing his phone. “I feel old just listening to him. Me!”

“_You_ feel old?” They scoffed, then lifted their leg and bent their knee, a sharp crack attacking the air. Then they lifted the other knee and did the same. Then they, somehow, cracked their elbows.

“You’ve made your point.” Elliot laughed lightly, turning, cocking his head to the side. “How old _are_ you?”

“Mm,” their knees and arms were still in the air, “25.”

“Uh huh. You and me both. But y’know, I’d almost believe it if it wasn’t for your little orchestra just now.”

“You are kind.” They dropped their limbs-a sentence which, once Elliot replayed it a few times, was far more morbid than he’d initially realized. They exhaled. “I am 35.”

“Oh. That’s not bad. Right? Tell me it’s not bad.”

“It’s not bad.”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

They puffed, a bit like an amused but over-exerted grandparent, then propped themselves up on an elbow, hair curtaining their lower shoulder. It rested lightly on the bed, and the blonde at the top was showing more and more; it grew startlingly fast. They raised a hand and beckoned him, and he came over without question, and met their lips with a natural ease, tasting the whiskey. “You go, and you have fun,” they said softly, “and you can tell me all about it later.”

He already felt intoxicated, leaning his forehead against theirs. “You gonna hang out here?”

“Likely, I will nap.”

“Are you sure you’re only 35?”

They rolled their eyes and shoved him away. “Begone with you.”


	9. Fuck the Oligarchy Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to Make Friends: Elliot Witt edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the early part two! :3 The normal two weeks is resuming after this, but hope y'all like it. And if you celebrate it, happy Thanksgiving. :D
> 
> As always, thanks to those that view and comment and kudo; it all means the world.

Ajay always threw wicked parties. It wasn’t just Legends, but High and Mid-tier fighters, even the occasional fledgling, miscellaneous friends-of-friends, a random fan or two and some staff from around the Tower and the games. Elliot recognized Natalie Paquette almost immediately-she was the electrical engineer’s daughter, and an electrical engineer of her own right, and the cutest goddamn thing he’d ever seen. She was talking to Wraith, holding a drink, laughing. She beamed upon seeing him, “Mirage-Elliot, hi!”

He smiled. “Hey Natalie, how’s things?”

“This is really good wine!” She said, which was all the answer Elliot needed. Soon he, Natalie and Wraith were chatting and drinking and laughing and just having a good time, something Elliot realized he’d been neglecting. He’d been spending most of the last few weeks, except for Games and bar nights (though even then “Jaime” was often present) with Bloodhound, besides the few days they were gone. And he had no reservations about this, but as Ajay brushed past him with a light knock to the head, he realized how suspicious it looked; Wraith understood, but a couple other Legends had made comments, and people at work. Ajay had ragged on him more than once for missing her last two parties and he was running out of excuses. _Sorry, Ajay,_ he thought, giggling to himself, _I’m just getting so much ass I forgot everyone else existed._

Anita, very drunk, was wrestling with some mid-tier player nobody knew. Ajay pulled her coffee table out of the way before she slammed him into it, and then he rolled on top of her and punched. Anita kneed him in the nuts then pulled up her knees, pressed her feet to his chest, and launched him back into the couch, garnering a roar from the gathering crowd. She staggered when she stood and blocked an incoming hit with her forearms, ducking and landing an uppercut. The poor guy stumbled and got another foot to the chest.

“Jesus,” Elliot muttered.

“She isn’t taking…things, well.” Natalie looked to the Legends beside her, who nodded solemnly. The guy got another two hits in before Bangalore pinned him and he cried uncle. She shotgunned a beer and started harassing anyone that looked stupid or drunk enough to fight. Octane, being both, jumped in. Ajay watched with a beer in quiet resignation, guarding her coffee table.

“You saw her livestream,” Wraith said quietly.

“It was bad.” Natalie paused. “_Very_ bad.”

“You know about the tower re-arrangement? Like, the details.”

“Oui. Everyone in the lab is horrified. I cannot believe an Official would do that-I mean, it’s beyond sabotage! And they haven’t even _done_ anything, I-“ she huffed and shook her head, her hair, cropped just below the ear, swinging around but still landing in a perfect almost-mussed style that Elliot simply could not stand how good it looked. “I can’t stand it.”

Maybe it was the buzz. Or the air, the life that was zipping around and refracting off of Bangalore as she split Octavio’s lip. He finished his wine cooler. Yeah, probably the buzz. “We should do something.”

Wraith raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“I dunno. Something. Something to get back.”

“Oh, I hear a revenge plot!” Octavio had a busted lip and a growing black eye and a great big grin. “Count me in, amigos.”

Elliot decided this would work, somehow, and nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“What are we doing?” Natalie asked, trotting to keep up with the others.

“I don’t know, we’ll figure it out. But it’s gonna be something.” Maybe he should grab a beer for the road. They all loaded into the elevator and headed up to his penthouse; he decided to get his tool bag and some paint and maybe a bag of sugar and do some good old-fashioned vandalism. But when the elevator doors opened there was Bloodhound, and he remembered that they had been napping, and now he was panicked.

But Bloth, having dressed to apparently leave, was calm. “Mirage, there you are. And…company.”

“Bonjour!” Natalie waved excitedly. “How are you, Mx. Bloodhound?”

“Allfather blesses me with good health, Ms. Paquette; and you? And your father.”

“_Ça va bien_, and so is Papa! He loved the feathers, thank you.”

Bloodhound inclined their head while Elliot tried to put together the meaning of that sentence. “_Góðan,_ _góðan_. What are you all doing?”

“I don’t know!” She replied cheerfully.

“Gonna get back at the Officials for being dicks,” Wraith said. “Wanna help?”

They stood up straighter. “A coincidence, _felagis_, I was in the mind of doing similar myself.” Arthur flew down from somewhere, Elliot hadn’t quite gotten the hang of always knowing where the damn bird was, and Bloodhound smoothed his feathers. “I am no condoner of injustice. Mirage had mentioned being tired from today’s battle, so I thought I would start with him. What did you have planned?”

Elliot found his tongue, “some paint and shit. Y-You know, wreck their rooms. Cut some pell-pellow-pill-pillows and s-stuff.”

“Mm,” they came closer, Elliot could feel them staring, “I had something much more subtle in mind. Has anyone here heard of _hákarl_?” They had not. “Well, it is foul fresh, and I have some-canned-that is expired and beastly by now. I propose opening and hiding it in their dwellings. Much less consequence to ourselves while still making our point.”

“But nobody knows where those are,” he said.

“No.” Then, as if of one mind, everyone slowly turned to look at Natalie. “No Legend does.”

Natalie looked around, beaming, rosy cheeked and shifting from the heel to the ball of her foot and back again, then blinked with a sudden realization and pointed to herself. “_Moi_?” They all nodded. She paused, cocking her head to the side, a grin slowly forming on her face. She bounced. “Okay! _Si vous voulez bien me suivre!_” She gestured and everyone entered the elevator.

They went straight to the basement, which was part of a network of old IMC structures and new Apex ones that Natalie claimed went all over the underground of King’s Canyon, “like a motherboard. Or, in some areas, a pile of live wires.” There were cameras, which Wraith could scramble so they essentially paused without seeming to. There was barely anyone there at the late hour, but even if there was a hundred, Elliot was reasonably sure it wouldn’t have mattered. Natalie led them like she was the mother duck and they were her little fast-footed ducklings, all in a line as they stopped when she stopped, went when she went, darted past a guard or two, slipped in and out of hallways, turned and paused behind crates or shelves. Elliot wouldn’t have ever expected her to know the system well enough to, buzzed (drunk?), guide a group of four through it unseen, let alone willing to do so in the first place. But maybe he was being unfair; she’d grown up there, after all. She probably knew the whole canyon better than anyone.

“Here,” she said, stopping in front of a door and looking at Wraith. “There are keys either on the desk or in the false bottom of the top left drawer. You can phase through doors, oui?”

“Of course,” she sniffed, “though I think they have the same stuff on in here as on the field. I feel all stuffy.”

“Oh, they do. If anyone can destroy the security systems, it is the woman who can phase through time and space, wouldn’t you think? Though I don’t think they ever expected you or anyone else to actually, well, do something like this. But they don’t know what you can really do, huh?”

Wraith laughed lightly and stepped through the door like it were water, popping back out with the keys in less than a minute. Natalie led them all again, down zig zagging halls that made Elliot’s head turn inside out, landing at a single door at the end of a long dim hall. “Through here. There’s two security cameras and six doors, one camera on each set of doors. There’s also alarms, but I can get those.”

“Alright, so Wraith scrambles the cameras and we each take a can. One person does two rooms, then we slip out.” Elliot looked around, glancing at Bloodhound, who gave the slightest nod, then looked at Octane. “Octane-Octavio-you can do the two, can’t you?”

“Oh, amigo, I could do all six if you’d let me.” Octavio grinned.

Bloodhound passed out what looked like unlabeled cat food cans, saying, “_felagis_, please remember this is _very_ foul-” A smell not unlike urine and death filled the hall. Octavio had opened his can. Bloodhound came over and pressed the lid back on top, huffing, the only one not gagging. “Listen to my warnings, Octane.”

“Man, that shits, augh, that’s _nasty_.”

Elliot held a hand over his mouth, partially to stop from laughing, mostly to stop from gagging. Wraith scrambled the cameras, then Natalie fiddled with a fuse box or something and they all chose a door, Elliot going for the middle left. The inside was sad and gray and droopy, like wet newspaper. A surge of gilt went through him as he glanced around, wondering if he should even go through with it. But there were no pictures, no letters, no drawings or paper bills in any drawer or cabinet. He couldn’t know whether this person was the Official that had gone after Bangalore or another. But he agreed to this crazy plot knowing he couldn’t know. And they were all kinda dicks anyway.

What the hell came over Bloodhound, anyway? In his experience, however short, they didn’t seem the kind for vigilante justice. Then again, they hadn’t seemed the kind to smoke or dye their hair either. He opened cabinets, finding a boring arrangement of canned and boxed foods, and in the bathroom was a medication for a recurring yeast infection and the average amount of over the counter medical supplies. Man, this was depressing. He decided to peek into the bedroom, which was spotless and only housed a dresser and king-sized bed. He looked at the bed, and he thought for a moment-maybe too long of a moment, then crawled under the bed.

In college he’d lived in the attic of a leaky old frat house for a few months and his food would go missing overnight all the time. At first he thought it was the guys that were actually part of the frat (he got to live there on the cheap in exchange for housework, like some hotter male Dominican Cinderella) but it turned out there had been rats living in his box spring. He crawled under the bed and cut a hole just big enough with his pocketknife to shove the can through, opened it (and maybe threw up in his mouth a little) and then got it to sit on the little wooden ledge. Then he crawled back out and cautiously joined the others in the hall.

Natalie led everyone back, Wraith re-scrambling the last two cameras, and having completed their strange espionage mission, they were congratulated by Bloodhound. Octane was buzzing with having done something _interesting_ and quickly returned to the party, presumably to find more justice to reign. Wraith did so as well while Natalie thanked them for the fun, but that she was going to head home.

“Thanks for helping us, Natalie.” Elliot said before she could leave, “you risked a lot leading us all back there.”

She blinked and then smiled. “Oh_, da rien_. It was fun! I will always be happy to help, especially with something like this.” She got a bit of a wicked grin Elliot had never seen on her before, “besides, even if we were caught, they wouldn’t have me long.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows, watching her walk, humming, to the little two-man gondola lifts that took staff from the Tower area to staff housing. Then he got in the elevator to go back to the party, Bloth rode up with him. “Why were you really leaving?” He asked curiously, leaning against the back wall.

They scratched underneath Arthur’s chin. “I was telling the truth. I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to exact vengeance. But I was just going to come to the party and get you, somehow.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” They paused. “I thought you might like it if I did.” He was touched. “But now, if I am being honest, I am very tired. What are your plans for the evening?”

“I was kinda planning on getting absolutely trashed and spending tomorrow regretting it,” he said with complete honesty.

They snorted as they came to Ajay’s floor in the middle of the tower. “Forgive me then, as I think I will retire to my apartment.”

“Aw, don’t wanna babysit?”

He knew they were smirking underneath that mask. “Absolutely not.” He stepped out and turned. As the doors closed, they left him with a casual salute. He did it back, wishing for all the world that he could catch salutes like kisses.

* * *

“Hey, Witt.”

Elliot’s concentration was broken mid back squat and he tipped forward, Gibraltar catching his bar before 200 some-odd pounds of weight broke his spine. He landed on his knees and looked up at Bangalore. She was dripping with sweat, towel over her shoulder. If it hadn’t been for an early morning trip to the infirmary, she would have had some awful bruising. Usually she wasn’t one to go, but apparently Ajay and ol’ Jolly Gib had wrestled her down there after she passed out night-before-last. He stood, breathing heavy, wiping at his forehead. “W-What?”

“Bloodhound told me about your little…operation.” She pursed her lips slightly, for a moment, then offered her hand. “I got my sponsors back. And the banners are getting changed after tomorrow's game. Thank you.”

He stared at the hand, then her face, squinting, but he took it. “Bloodhound came up with it.”

“You were the one with the plan and the crew. They came up with a better execution.”

He half inclined his head, letting his arm fall to his side. He glanced across the training room to Bloodhound. They gave a little finger wave. He couldn’t decide if they had told the truth or embellished things exponentially enough that Anita willingly came over to talk. Her voice lost her usual edge when she said, “but really, Elliot. I appreciate what you all did. I’ve fought in wars with men and women that wouldn’t even dream of doing something like that for me. You could have lost everything.”

“So could you,” he found himself saying.

He got a chuckle out of her. “See you around, Witt. And put more weight on your barbell. Maybe you’ll grow an actual ass.”


	10. Lokna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloodhound makes another bad move; Elliot loves them even more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals are done so, therefore, I can...breathe? I didn't even notice the 100+ kudos with everything going on and wanted to shout a hearty thank you from the rooftops! The views, too, I'm like...yo, what? But sweet! I'm trying to move things forward a little bit with this one, hope y'all like it. There be fluff. Thanks for all the support, everyone, you're absolute dolls!
> 
> IMPORTANT:  
This chapter addresses a lot to do with Bloodhound's culture, which will continue to be explored. But there is a discussion of pronouns and how they work within their culture, specifically that there is an equivalent to "they" in their language-which technically there is, as there is a neutral pronoun in Icelandic (and they TECHNICALLY speak that), but far as my research has shown me the neutral pronoun means "it" and is not usually used in reference to a person-well, to make it short, I don't speak Icelandic and I'm not even gonna try to use those weird O's, but I tried to have something that seemed like it fit. If I fucked up royally, let me know. If you're Icelandic, sorry, in general. Otherwise, I hope y'all enjoy.

“Mirage,” Bloodhound walked over, tossing him a couple of boxing pads. “If you would not mind?”

Elliot looked, shrugged and put them on. Bloodhound could punch _hard_, but he’d rather be bracing himself against their fists than doing _cardio_. They started hitting, adjusting their stance, calculating, then landing a finishing blow. Then they’d hit some more, practice their precision, Elliot hopping around to make it a bit more of a challenge to hit the target (which, though many people would argue otherwise, was _not_ his face). The thump of their gloves hitting the leather sounded louder in the concrete echo chamber that made up one of the Apex Games gyms; it was just them, Gibraltar and a couple lower tier players, and one Natalie Paquette. She wasn’t _supposed_ to be there, but she always asked so nicely.

Bloodhound put all their weight behind the next hit and nearly took his arm off. “Whoa, whoa time out,” He flipped the boxing pad off and started flicking his hand. “Jesus Christ, Bloodhound.”

“You have weak arms.”

“I do not.”

“You should try some more weight. Perhaps pullups.”

“I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not,” he half hissed. They gestured-_come getta._ He huffed. “You put on the pads and let me hit _you_ for a while.”

“Of course.” They did so, annoying Elliot a little with how easily they moved from one thing to another. He spent so much time with Bloth he sometimes forgot Bloodhound existed, even though they were very much one in the same person. Both could stand under a waterfall and it would all just roll off their shoulders. He punched once, then twice quickly and once again. “Harder,” they said. He punched harder. “Harder,” they said, again, getting closer to him. He inhaled deeply, bounced on his feet, circling them, imagining he was Ali and they were Joe Frazier. Wait, no. He was Ali and they were someone Ali had not lost to. Finally, he wound himself up, threw himself behind it, and punched. They did stumble, they fell back a little, and in his triumph, Elliot got in their face, “_gotcha bitch!_”

“Mm, _harder_.” They breathed.

The lightbulb clicked on in his head and he reeled back. They stood, baubles on their mask shaking with invisible laughter. His face felt hot as he crossed his arms. “Bastard.”

“Perhaps all you needed was encouragement, _felagi?_ You do _thrive_ on it, _don’t_ you?”

Elliot rubbed desperately at his face, turning on his heel. “Hey Natalie, you wanna punch something? Let’s go punch something.”

* * *

Natalie was the last to leave. Elliot was punching again, following Bloodhound’s movements. He wasn’t nearly as accurate as they were, but he was still good. You had to be to get where he was. They didn’t mind the chest punches-Elliot did, though. The equipment hurt. “So, Elliot.”

“Bloodhound?” He puffed, feeling every inch of his lungs as they expanded.

“I, ah, well I’m going to be gone for a bit.”

“Gone?” He swung with his body and Bloodhound stumbled. His brothers would have approved. “What do you mean gone?”

“I will be, ah, away.”

His next punch was lighter as he got a creeping feeling. “How long?”

“About two months.”

“What!”

“I leave tomorrow evening.”

He inhaled sharply and exhaled every emotion he felt in the next second into the boxing pad. Bloodhound took something of a controlled fall onto a barbell bench. “What do you _mean_ you leave _tomorrow night_. I thought we _talked about this_.”

Sheepishly, they shrugged. “I sort of, ehm, forgot.”

“How the hell do you forget that?”

“Well, I forgot to, I mean.” They paused. Elliot crossed his arms and they sighed, slipping off the pads and putting them carefully where they belonged. He knew they were using it as an excuse to think. “I’m not used to this.”

“Used to what, fucking _what_ Bloodhound?”

Weakly, they gestured between them. “T-This.” He glowered; eyes narrowed, back straight and lips pursed. Elliot Witt was not a man who typically glowered. He wasn’t aware the sort of affect it could have on people. Bloodhound didn’t know this, however, and really thought he was pressing them to say it. “This,” they gestured again, almost frantically, “t-this…” when he didn’t react, the threw down their hand. “_Us._”

“Us?” The glower began to unravel. _Serendipity_. He could taste it on his tongue. “There is an us-that kind of us?”

They wavered, “isn’t there?”

Elliot held back; he really did. His heart was pounding, thudding, trying to burst out of his chest. But he held back. “On a condition. Two, actually.”

“What conditions?”

“First you say it. Out loud.” He’d stepped toward them slowly till they were close, too close, suspicious close.

“Why don’t you say it?” They sounded almost indignant.

“Because _you’re_ the one in trouble.”

They miffed again. He sort of loved it. To see them unravel, like rolling out one of those perfectly bound craft store yarn balls. To see the human in them. They took his hands in theirs, thumbs over the back, the leather soft and worn as they started to rub circles. They stared at the ground. He squeezed their hands gently, prompting them to look up. They squeezed back. “Us. I would like…for us to be…a proper couple. I-In words. S-So-” they breathed deeply, “I would like to ask you to be my boyfriend.”

“Officially?”

“Officially.”

“No takesies-backsies.”

They laughed through their nose, like they were too nervous to let themselves laugh fully, and simply held out a pinky, which Elliot hooked with his. “Never.”

_AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!. _Pinkies still hooked he leaned in and kissed their mask about where their nose would be. “Alright, condition two is you stop being a dumbass.”

“You first.”

He rolled his eyes. “I mean communicate. Like holy shit Bloodhound you’re really bad at it and it kinda pisses me off and-this just,” he stopped, and breathed in, gathering himself, “I…I know your life is something I maybe won’t ever un-understrand-what? Totally get, but if you wanna run into the woods or something for two months, I’m not gonna stop you. But if we’re go-go-going to be a _couple_ you need to give me an idea w-where you are. Some warning.”

“How much warning?”

“If you’re going to be gone a couple months m-maybe a week or something? I do-don’t know…a couple days? Well, you know this would be f-fine, day before… I just…” he inhaled slowly, and focused, and didn’t stutter a mite when he said, “I just need to know where you are, where you could be. If you go missing, I need somewhere to start. I need…”

“I understand, I believe.” They said softly. “I’m go-“ their voice died in their throat. Elliot turned his head. There was Natalie, a deer in headlights, mute in panic. Bloodhound took a couple steps back from him. They were trembling, and he wasn’t relying on the baubles.

“I’m so sorry!” she squeaked. “I forgot my phone…”

“How long have you been there?” Elliot surprised himself with his composure.

“T-the, uh…confess…uh, I won’t-I won’t’ say anything, ever, never, I wouldn’t!” She was hard to hear she was so quiet, shaking her head, talking around chewing her thumbnail. Elliot glanced back to Bloodhound, who had at least stopped visibly trembling. “It…is Natalie.”

“It is,” they said, wobbly.

“I wouldn’t! Oh goodness I-I’m so sorry.” She swallowed hard, sat in the silence, and then quietly walked to a nearby bench for her phone once she seemed assured that they weren’t going to kill her. “I’m so sorry.”

Elliot placed a hand on Bloodhound’s shoulder. “Ms. Paquette,” they said softly, “I would have preferred no one know. But Allfather willed the circumstance. So, I presume we can trust you.”

She nodded quickly.

“Not a breath.”

“Not one.” She said.

“Alright. You may go.”

She nodded and quickly made for the door, then stopped. “Can I say one thing?” They flicked their hand in a _you may_ fashion. “You two are _so cute_.” Then she zipped out the door like a little bolt of lightning.

Elliot paused and then slipped his hand into Bloth’s. “You’re still in trouble,” he said with mirth.

“I know,” they said quietly, something in their voice he hadn’t heard before, something good. They squeezed his hand gently.

* * *

It was late at night when Bloodhound came into his apartment and surprised him at the doorway to his bedroom. Faint ocher from his lamp laid on their naked thighs, across well-toned arms and sharpened every contour of their face, showed the gleam of their hair, colored their only article of clothing, a white t-shirt, a diluted, rich toned yellow. He sat up in bed, dropping the book he had been reading. He had forgotten what book it was, who wrote it, what it was about, it’s color and length and size and shape and feel-all these various thoughts were on the person before him that sauntered over, that straddled his lap and kissed him into the pillows.

The solid softness of their legs, the curve of their spine as they leaned over him and left their love bites, his hickeys, on his neck, sank their teeth into his shoulder and kissed their way back up to his jaw. Firm arms, gentle hands pressing into his chest, up to his cheeks and through his hair, leaving it a mess. He took theirs, pulled his fingers through it like water, the softness of a thousand strands of spider silk at his fingertips. Heat and ardor and ecstasy rolled through him as they tangled together, as they dug their nails into his back, when he gripped their thighs, a breathless kiss in between the layers of starscape.

Getting in the shower was a challenge. Getting out of the shower was a bigger one. Elliot pulled them up to him when they got in bed, so their damp head was on his bare chest, and started finger combing their hair. They closed their eyes, he felt them ease into him, relaxing. He felt like a king. “So, I’m your boyfriend,” he whispered, saying the first words that weren’t influenced by the throes of passion, “and you’re my…partner?”

They hummed softly and opened their eyes, looking at the wall of one-way windows, Elliot had the bed shoved in the corner there because he liked to look and see a world that seemed out of reach. But now it was so dark it looked like someone had pulled the blinds shut on the galaxy. “In English. My tongue has…its own words for it.”

He paused in his brushing to get an actual comb from his nightstand, then continued, gently. “Really?”

“Ja. People like me, in my…village, we have been part of the normal for more than a millenia.”

“O-oh, like, really? Like…that’s really cool.”

They chuckled. “Yes, very cool. Of course, no one in the mainstream now was alive when it wasn’t,” they stretched out, legs and toes and arms above, like a cat, “But you all have so many words for it. We have male. And female. And then lokur.”

“Lokur?”

“Ja. Though we just use lok. It is like the they. If one does not feel like they belong to either or, one will use lok. If they feel they are entirely separate from male or female, they use lok. If they differ by the day or however, lok is a…polite way of addressing them, and then they just say, oh, _kona_, female, or _karla_-male, and we move on with the conversation. It is both its own gender and a neutral balance between the two. Lok can really be taken in its own way by an individual as well...” They exhaled. “It’s a bit…hard to translate.”

“Huh. I dunno, sounds pretty straight forward.” Elliot was glowing. They had never sat down and talked so much about their language or culture-mostly, if they referenced home, it was vague, about their sisters or food. A lot about food, actually. “Can I braid your hair?”

“You can braid?” They sat up slowly, both readjusting until they were comfortable.

“Duh. Single mom. _And_ five nieces. Don’t get me started on the little cousins.”

He saw their reflection smile in the window. “Can you do three? Within the hair, without using all of it. It is for the three roots of Yggdrasil.”  
“Yiggawhatta?”

They laughed. “The World Tree.”

“You know, I’m going to have to have you sit me down and just teach me all this stuff. Y-You know,” he started parting their hair, “If that’s okay.”

“I would love nothing more than to teach you.” The joy in their voice about made his heart pop.

“When you get back.”

“When I get back.”

“But, uh, the lok thing?”

“Oh! Right. Lok is the, uh, pronoun. And then there is a different word for a partner, like a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and then for a spouse. Lokna or Lokur works for someone you are not married to.”

“But lokur is also the pronoun?”

“Yes. That’s why we use lok.”

“Then why not just use lok and not lokur?”

They gave a halfhearted throw of their hands. “Oh, I don’t _know_. Lokina and Lokijur are for a spouse. So lok, lokna or lokur, lokina or lokijur. Whichever used is up to the couple. It’s rare, but some just use Ástvinur, or love-friend. Or other endearments- to make a long story short…I would be your lokna.”

He smiled softly, running his fingers over the section of braid he’d finished. He leaned forward and kissed their shoulder. “You _are_ my lokna.”

* * *

“No cell phone? Or video calls or-“

“Video calls,” they said, “once a week. That’s when the internet is on.”

He pouted. “For how long?”

“An hour at most.”

He sighed, leaning his head on their shoulder and pouting up. “Four days is one thing, but this is plain rude.”

“Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?” The braids dangled, not totally unlike the baubles on their mask, as they turned their head toward him. He booped their nose.

“Nope, I’m still annoyed.” But he wasn’t mad. He couldn’t be mad after last night. Besides the fact they _certainly_ knew how to apologize, he was gonna miss them like hell. “But absence makes the heart grow fonder. I think.”

They leaned their head on his and pulled a box from one of their many, many pockets and placed it on the coffee table. “For you.”

He raised an eyebrow. It was a very plain box, small and wooden but sturdy. When he opened it, he found an old-style fountain pen, the kind you had to dip in an inkwell, also in the box. The pen was printed with beautiful birds, colorful exotic ones backed in indigo. Below was some stationary with little branches of cherry blossoms bordering the edge and matching envelopes. “Oh my God, we’re gonna write letters like star-crossed Victorian lovers or something?”

“Uh, sure. I-If you would like. I know it’s old fashioned to you, but…”

“Dude shut up, this is so cool. I’ve never gotten to just like, write a letter.” He kissed them. “Thank you.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Hey, when’s your birthday?”

They blinked. “November 23rd.”

“Oh, you’ll be gone.”

“You can send me a letter,” they smiled softly.

“I could send you some pictures.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Mmm,” they side-eyed him while pulling on their mask. “And how do you intend to do that?”

“I’ll-I’ll buy a Polaroid. Don’t test me, I will.”

“Then I _am_ testing you.”

He raised an eyebrow and watched as they stood and extended their arm, Arthur gliding easily from the curtain rod. They adjusted their mask as they headed to the door, then turned and looked at him. He got up and, half glancing at Arthur, hugged them. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” they said softly. They pulled out a piece of paper from some other pocket and handed it to him. “This is the address. M…my address.”

“You _are_ visiting home.” He looked at the paper. He could only say the symbols looked like runes, which up to that point he’d only ever seen in comic books and video games and maybe a movie or two. “Did you let Arthur write this?”

They laughed. “No, he has better handwriting.”

Arthur made a small croon of agreement.

Elliot smiled. Man, he was going to miss them. He would even miss the bird. Even though he mostly stood in corners and stole food off his plate. He reached under their chin and flicked the tiny panel that covered the release button and pressed it, the red bottom half dropping into his hand, leaving just Bloodhound’s surprised mouth that he kissed, deeply, gently biting their lip, drawing a soft gasp with his parting. “You’ll miss your transport.”

“When did you find that?”

“When you were in the shower.”

“You are a _pest_, Elliot Witt.”

He smiled. “I’m _your_ pest.”


	11. Lemonade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloodhound's a child; Elliot and Anita get to talking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Note: All conversation and otherwise when Bloodhound is home is in their native language, which should be a given but I'm making the note here anyway. It's why, in Bloodhound's perspective/section/whichever, endearments or other such things are not written in italicized Icelandic/Old Norse. Yeah, I'll get into the language thing later. Anyway
> 
> God, ya'll glorious. Glorious glorious glorious darlings. Dahlings. 
> 
> Chapter is a day early because I'm doing Christmas Things
> 
> Also I write in Word and grammatically "themself" doesn't exist to the program so if there's a "themselves" where a "themself" should be, send a strongly worded letter to Microsoft.

They changed in the woods, a pair of loose jeans and a long sleeve sweatshirt with a flannel over it. They rolled their hair, now far longer than it had been in ages, and tucked it under a hunting cap. There was a small town outside of Solace City, about an hour and a half drive, that had a Frontier Transport with a line straight to Talara. From Talara it went to a station outside Earth, and from there they got a line to their home country, and then a plane to their village. In two and a half days they would be on Allfather’s ground, with their loved ones, speaking their mother tongue among the ravens. They inhaled deeply, passing cash to a man in a booth of a parking garage that asked no questions and didn’t answer any, either. They checked their luggage, they sat in their seat with Arthur in his cage between their legs, and they closed their eyes and let their thoughts of a man alone in a penthouse rumble away with the warming of the transport carriage.

* * *

“Johann!” Bloodhound briefly hugged the stout little walrus-mustached man, firmly patting his back and beginning to walk with him. “You look older.”

“You’re still a bastard, Bloodhound,” he said cheerfully. “Been a while.”

“Busy.” They ducked underneath the wing of a red bush plane. “How is your wife?”

“Old as me and twice as ornery,” he said fondly. “You still wandering those badlands with only your hand for company?”

“Good company is good company.” They said.

“Ha! You would be right.” They came upon a bush plane with a belt of black across its middle, the bottom a bright blue. The _vegvisir_ and the _aegishjalmur_ were on the tail, below them a series of runes, professing protection upon the vehicle and its travelers. “I got a letter with a lot of money telling me to put those on. So, I did.”

“You’ve always bent to the krona.” They said. “That would be my mother that sent it.”

“Ah. Worries too much.”

“I _am_ the baby.” They loaded their two bags and strapped down Arthur, who fluffed himself haughtily. He had spent most of the last two days in the cage. “You’ve kept her well, Johann. Thank you.” They passed him a few bills, which the elder man tucked into his breast pocket before wishing Bloodhound a pleasant day. They thanked him and got in, did their checks and elsewise, assuring Arthur he’d be in the open air soon enough, then taxied down the runway and into the chill of the clouds.

When they landed on a small airstrip outside a small village two hours later, there was one woman waiting for them. They beamed, ignoring Arthur for the moment, and jogged over to hug her. “Mama,” they breathed, “I’ve missed you.”

Bloodhound fell asleep at the dinner table. A hand still around their stew bowl, like a child who had eaten too much. Their mother covered them with a blanket and let them sleep. Their sister, upon finding out, came with a Polaroid and snapped a picture. The snap is what woke them and they glared petulantly. “Katlaaaaa,” they whined.

She smiled, waving the picture as it developed. “Hallo, dear sibling.” They drew the blanket over their head, shoving the stew bowl away and flopping their face on the table. They felt her come over and do her best to hug them around their Fortress of Poutitude. “Is the baby tired? Shall I put you to your crib before you have a fit?”

“The only thing that will make me have a fit is you,” they muttered.

“Traveling beyond Allfather’s grasp has done no good for your temper,” she chided, expertly dodging an elbow aimed for her abdomen.

“Nag.”

“Whiner.”

They popped their head out of the blanket to stick their tongue out at her. She stuck hers out back. “I can’t believe you’re 35.”

“I can’t believe you’re 40-40…40-something. I don’t remember how old you are.”

“Good.” She sat at the chair diagonal from them and reached out, pulling their hair from under the blanket and smiling. “Oh, are you growing it again?”

They looked at her braids, three that came from the back and were tossed over her shoulder, about knee length. Her hair was the most beautiful black, like a raven’s wing. Theirs had once been nearly that long. “No,” they said, with an unreadable amount of regret, “it doesn’t fit in my mask.”

She sighed. “When are you going to give up this life, little one?”

“When Allfather wills it.”

She rolled her eyes, then pointed at their head. “Well, that looks terrible.”

“Thank you.”

“I like seeing your natural color again, though. You should dye it back.”

“_Ugh_, not _you_ too.”

“Me _too_?” She raised one sharp eyebrow; the circular runes tattooed around the end following the motion. Bloodhound inhaled sharply. _Fokk_.

* * *

Elliot, as he had predicted, got totally trashed after Bloodhound left. Opening the door for the pizza guy naked trashed. Calling Wraith crying about the Avatar episode where Aang finds Monk Gyatso at the Southern Air Temple trashed. Trying to fill his shower with water for a bath but just flooding the bathroom, and then calling Wraith again because he wanted another pizza but was too drunk to dial the number trashed. It should be noted that at that point Wraith decided to come over and babysit because if Elliot forgot about voice commands that meant he needed an adult.

Unsurprisingly, still half-drunk when he woke up the next morning, he played shit in that afternoon's game. “The hell is wrong with you,” Anita growled, hitting him upside the head. He yelped. “Oh my god, you drunk dumbass.”

“I’m not a dumbass,” he muttered. “Hey, do you got an orange?”

“An orange?”

“Yeah. To suck on. Or a lemon.” She stared at him a long moment, then pulled a lemon out of her pocket and handed it to him. He stared at the lemon, then at her. “Why do you have a lemon?”

She didn’t say anything, pinging to loot a nearby building. Octane wandered over, seeing the lemon, and stared at Elliot. They stared at each other, both glancing at the lemon intermittently, before Octavio just sort of nodded, shot a casual finger gun, and went to find someone to fight. Elliot would be able to say that was the first time he lost a game with half a lemon in his mouth.

He had a notepad set up on a desk in the common area, a corner far away from any harsh lights. Not that there was much for harsh lights; the space was designed with comfort in mind, big tv, couches, chairs, tables, books, games, couple vending machines. Like the Paradise Lounge but less alcohol and more canasta. It was open to Legends and then anyone in the games below them, it was supposed to foster paternity or fraternity, or a sense of belonging or something. Right now, the dozen or so other people there just provided the background noise Elliot needed to think. All he had on the notepad was a big, beautiful B that he’d spent ten minutes detailing when Anita came over and banged on the table, making him screw up the line. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself. What the hell was that play today, soldier?” She glared down at him, then sat in the chair across. “I know you’re a dumbass, but that was out of line, even for you.”

“Are you callin’ me uncoop-uncuth-you’re the one that had a lemon.”

“Lemons have a lot of uses.”

“Name three.”

She held up a finger with each point, “deters insects, relieves heartburn, decent disinfectant.”

“Why do you need to relieve heartburn on the battlefield?”

“It’s a habit, okay?” She huffed. Strangely, Elliot wasn’t afraid of Bangalore-Anita, anymore. She was frightening, but he felt sudden confidence that she wasn’t going to kill him. Maybe the whole lemon-thing was making it easier to see her as any other weirdo that killed people for a living.

“I screwed up,” he said, shrugging slightly. “Sorry.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Well, believe it.”

“God,” she tossed her head back. “No wonder you two get along, you both can’t be straight for five fucking seconds.”

“From what I’ve heard, neither can you.” _Ooooooooooooooooooooooh my GOD I didn’t STUTTER! I didn’t stutter! BamBOOZLED!_

That one seemed to surprise her, as she didn’t just chuckle, she laughed(!). “Okay,” she pointed one pink-painted nail at him, “that’s funny.”

He smiled a bit. She didn’t leave. He had a feeling she wouldn’t. The place wasn’t packed, but there were enough people, all split into their little groups doing whatever that their conversation could hide in it. And they were in a blind spot of any cameras, too. He wondered if he was consciously making the choice to find blind spots or if some part of him had adopted the habit. He relaxed in his chair, squeezing his eyes intermittently against the hangover. Man, he overdid it. “Bloth is gone.”

She blinked, sitting up straighter, and paused. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why I did it, but past a certain point the brain goes buh-bye and everything else just happens.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “You didn’t know?”

“What? No, I didn’t know. How the hell was I supposed to know?” He pursed his lips. “Did you know?”

“I knew.”

“What the _fuck_,” he said, too loudly. Coming from his mouth such a word was an attention grabber. The silence was thick with tension until he felt it safe to talk again. “They told me the day before. Who does that?”

“Jaime.” She said, cautiously peering around. “They…leave, for random periods of time. They always have.”

Elliot huffed, looking down at the big, intricate B. “They said you’ve known each other for years.”

She leaned back, running one thumb over the other. “I don’t know if I should be telling you shit, Witt.”

“We’re official.” He said, eliciting a far less surprised reaction than he anticipated. “And they’re dodging stuff. A lot of stuff. A-and I know, I know a lot of it is gonna ha-h-have to be like that for a while, I get this whole ass thing is kind of wacko, but I think I have a right to know _something_ about my partner. I wanna know some…something of their past, or something, at least. How they got here.” When she remained silent, he leaned forward, pleading. “C’mon, Bang, please? I know we aren’t exactly buddies-okay, you totally hate me, whatever-but I think, I-I think I’ve proven that I care about them. That I can be trusted with _something_.”

She pressed her thumbnail into her finger and looked at him, lips pursed. Slowly she closed her eyes and sighed, slumping back. “Fine. They were in IMC with me.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows, sort of surprised it worked. “How long-“

“Joined at 18. We met because I walked by when they were fighting with officials, you know, paperwork and stuff. Officials wouldn’t believe their name was Bloodhound. I helped them fill out the paperwork, their English was such shit then, barely enough to apply, but we got along well enough. I’m the one that suggested they use Jaime, once we translated that whole lok thing to mainstream terms.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows. “I…didn’t ever think them one to join IMC.”

She shrugged slightly. “They barely knew what it was. They needed money, and someone told them they could get it at IMC. If it makes you feel better, they left within six months.”

Elliot inclined his head. His brothers fought on the Frontier side. His mother’s technology had been used by both. His father, he’d fought in his own way. He’d been too young to do anything but watch the ashes settle. “Why’d they leave?”

“You want the official record or the real one?”

“Both.”

“Officially, they were given an ELS discharge because they requested to leave before the 180-day cutoff. Unofficially, but the true story, they deserted because they had what they needed-learned English, how to read it mostly, learned all they needed about tech and machines, some money, some food, and a gun that hadn’t been tagged yet from storage.” She paused. “I might have helped them, kept IMC off their trail. IMC wasn’t for them. It was like putting a viper in a box.”

“Six months later I found them in some woods on Tagron 5, wearing all that gear they have, and the crazy bastard tried to kill me till they realized who I was, then we had tea. That was fuckin’ wild. After that we kept running into each other, like somethin’ was pulling us together. I could be in the remotest, nastiest little jungle on the shittiest planet in the galaxy, and there they were, fucking _treasure hunting _or some shit.”

Elliot had not expected this level of detail and breathed it in gratefully, quiet, careful not to say anything too dumb. Probably. “Like, like a yo-ho-ho pirate thing?”

“Yo-ho-shiver-me-timbers, here be a golden chest overflowing with coins and a temple with a billion-dollar idol thing, yeah. They made a name for themself on the hunting, but most people don’t know it’s not just beasts they’ve gone after.” She paused to breathe, glancing around, Elliot doing so as well; nothing had changed but the air between two Legends. She began again, much more softly. “When my brother fell,” Elliot shivered at the familiarity of the thought, and the suddenness of it, pushed his own into the furthest reaches of his mind. “I ran into them, right when I needed them. And I started to believe a little bit in that fate and destiny and Gods shit they always go on about. Do you…” she hesitated, her voice much smaller, she, looking, much smaller as she cast her eyes across the table at him, “do you believe in that? Any of that stuff.”

Elliot swallowed and didn’t respond, because he didn’t want to stutter on it. He was in a weirdly serious mood, much as he was elated to be learning anything about Bloth. “I used to, I think,” he said quietly, “but the war took a lot of stuff from me.”

She nodded, and Elliot felt a deeper sense of understanding coming from a woman who hated him, a woman from _that_ side, than he had from his own family. “It’s rough. I don’t think I know anything about that stuff still. Don’t know if I ever will. Always kind of admired that about them.” Elliot nodded, the two sharing a brief, small smile. “Anyway… I stayed with them, in this little hut in a swamp. A weird couple of months. But it kept me from going insane. When it was my time to leave, I left; and from then on we’ve always run into each other, usually when we needed someone. We joke that it’d be great to never meet again because that meant nothing wrong was going on.”

The corner of Elliot’s cheek quirked up. Even if it had delved into mostly how they met Anita, it was more than enough. He was…kind of having a nice time? With her? “What about the Games?”

“Ha, I still don’t know exactly.” Her hands searched for something to fiddle with and, coming up wanting, settled for the sleeve of her blouse. “I came here because I can fight, and I need the money. They came here because they felt they needed to. The whole Allfather thing. What that has to do with our meeting tendencies, I don’t know. Though, personally, I think they…” She trailed off and looked at him. “Did they tell you about the thing?”

“What thing? The knife thing? Or the biting thing? Because the biting thing was-“

“No, no I mean-look,” she leaned forward, Elliot doing the same. “I can tell you they’ve always had a tight cork on their bottle of mysteries. Like if they keep it there, they don’t have to cope with being human. And I can tell you that you’re both between a rock and a fucking hard place because everything they tell you is basically a bomb they’re trusting you not to throw back at them and that means they hold back way too fucking much for a relationship to develop healthily.”

“Hence this conversation,” he said.

“Hence this conversation,” she admitted. “But I can tell you I understand why they’re like that. That something happened, something big that won’t come out till that cork pops off the bottle, hear me? And if you want my opinion, and you do, Witt, you do, you’ll let them take it off themself.”

“Okay, so they’re hiding something, you’re letting me know they’re hiding something, and that I shouldn’t let them know that I know that they’re hiding something.”

“Pretty much. I mean, they’re hiding a lot of things, but the big thing…you’ll know when they tell you.” She leaned back. “And I just ask you don’t blow up. Too much.”

Elliot leaned back, hand on either leg. What could she be talking about-what secret would need to be transparent in the beginning-a secret Bloth would have? He propped his face upon his hand and looked at the ornate B on his paper again, thinking that, frankly, he didn’t know. It could be a million things. Okay, more like five or ten things, but that was still a lot of things, and some of them Elliot was okay with, and some of them he wasn’t. And he had a hard time sticking anything to them. “They gave me stationary and told me to write them.” He whispered. “They’re going to have to be clear about some stuff eventually.”

“They will,” Anita said, seeming curious. “Though they’ll try to find a way around a lot of it.”

He nodded his head from side to side and turned his eyes toward her, a grin peaking around his palm. “Then I’ll just have to try harder, won’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all have a blessed week and, in the event you celebrate Christmas, Merry Christmas!
> 
> Side note I do put a lot of time into looking up old Viking/Icelandic, Old Norse religion, clothing, practices, etc that I try to weave into Bloodhounds thing and I intend to add a page with MLA formatted sources for everything when I finish this fic. Just so y'all know, in case you want that. 
> 
> Also be ready for more Bloodhound centric chapters for a nip :D


	12. Their Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet letters, a literal catastrophe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Please note that Bloodhound's parts when at home, unless interacting with Elliot or saying his name, are entirely in their language. 
> 
> Get ready for the start of some actual plot probably
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy. It's been a rough start to the year but here's to better days!

_Gormanudr 3, ‘33_

_Elliot, _

_I have arrived safely in the two and a half days I Promised. It felt like a Longer time to get here than it usually does. I blame You. I know you will want to Know many things. But you will Know only three as of this Letter. _

  1. _Home is Cold._
  2. _Home is Warm_
  3. _I am Very drunk._

_I think I Shall send this before I Forget how to address it._

_-Bloth_

_Oct 30, ‘33_

_Dear Blothy, (can I call you that? I’m gonna call you that)_

_Thanks for telling me you’re safe. I hope you’re not drunk anymore. Unless you wanna be, I don’t judge. I can’t judge considering everything about me. Jk. Actually no. Maybe? I think I’m one of the only people in the tower that eats vegetables but I also will probably die from liver failure. I dunno. Jeeze, I’m bad at this. _

_What’s up there? Nothing has really been going on here. I miss you. Lots. Bunches and bunches. I got super drunk after you left because, I dunno. Not because I miss you or anything. But anyway Bangalore-Anita? Should I start like, regularly calling her that? Anyway, she gave me a lemon and I think we’re friends now. Or at least I don’t think she hates me. Maybe she hates me but doesn’t wanna castrate me? Either way I get to keep my dick now which is nice._

_Ugh. I dunno what to write. Is it okay if this is short? I dunno. I’ll come back later. Maybe I’ll write drunk and you’ll get something funny. Or depressing. It’s a crap shoot. _

_P.S. What’s a Gormanudr?_

_-Elliot_

_Gormanudr 5, ‘33_

_Elliot,_

_Gormanudr is the month. My calendar is different than yours. Still twelve months, but they are all 30 days. Six summer months, six winter months. It is winter right now. As it has been for many years now, we get colder, harsher winters than we used to; something to do with climate change. There is two feet of snow on the ground and more to come. _

_I am staying at my parents’ home. So far, I have beaten my sister over the head with a bread tin twice. She deserved it, so you understand, but she never fails to make me lose myself. Mamma has threatened she’ll toss me into the snow if I dent the bread tin. It would be worth it. _

_I miss you too and I…am glad you are not getting castrated?_

_And if you write to me while you are drunk, please pre-address the letter. I can barely read your sober runes. _

_-Bloth_

_Also, what is a ps? _

_Oct 31, ‘33_

_Bloth,_

_Ajay had a Halloween party last night. I don’t know why she didn’t have it tonight, maybe because she likes to pretend a hangover means she can’t go hand out candy in Oldetown in SC. Anyway, I got blasted and I don’t know what happened between the hours of 12 and 2am, but I woke up and Octane had managed to “lose leg privileges” by breaking Ajay’s coffee table. So, he had 2 peg legs. I got a couple pictures of the decorations because I thought you might like them. I think. You said you never been to a Halloween party, right? I think you said you don’t really go to parties. I don’t know, I’m very hungover. Also, Octavio has a bunny named Zoomie. It’s pink and super-fast and I guess lives super long too because he rescued it from Silva labs when he was a kid. I put a picture in here because it’s cute. _

_Also, that’s a lot of snow. Like too much snow. What do you mean you get more snow than that? PLACES GET THAT MUCH SNOW? How do you even open a door with that much snow?! HOW DO YOU LEAVE. BLOODHOUND ARE YOU EVER COMING BACK? And how hard is your sister’s head to dent a bread tin? Or are your bread tins different? Cause my bread tins were my great-great-great Uncle Frank’s and Mom knocked a guy out with them once and used them to nail stuff together, and I used to kill rats in my old apartment with the like bottom and they’re still primo. I’m judging your bread tins now. Big bread tin judgement. _

_You better be glad ;)_

_And I’m not pre-addressing the letter. Suffer. Actually, it probably won’t make it to you if I don’t pre-address it. So maybe I will. Also, PS is just what you put when you have like another thought after you finish the letter. Like PS what are all the months called in your calendar? I wanna know. I wanna know a lot about you, actually. And about stuff like that. It’s cool._

_God, my head hurts. I need another lemon. But I don’t have lemons. You know what? I’m going to go knock on Anita’s door and ask for a lemon. I’ll update before I send this._

_Update: She hit me in the head but she gave me a lemon!!! We’re friends now. Hey, if I give her pork chops do you think she’ll stop hitting me?_

_-Elliot._

_PS Seriously what are the names of all the months this is super interesting_

“Who keeps sending you letters?” Mamma asked as she handed Bloodhound the two that had just come in. The plane hadn’t been able to make it the day before due to the wind.

“Oh, a friend,” Bloodhound said.

Katla snorted. If she didn’t have the fire poker in hand, Bloodhound would have hit her. Mamma glanced between the two of them and shook her head. Pabbie got up from his chair and gestured at Bloodhound. “Get your hat and coat, child. I need you to load wood.”

“You never make Katla do it.”

“Katla cooks.”

They helped him into his jacket. Pabbi was old, and his arms were stiff from labor and had refused to go behind him for almost five years now. They often wished he’d let them take him to Reykjavík for _some_ kind of treatment. “And Yrsa cleans, and Sigrid hunts, and Revna helps your mother. And you run to the stars and only have strange ideas to show for it.”

“I send money.”

“Bah, and what good is that?” He forced leathery sausage fingers into thick wool gloves, flexing his hands. “The Gods have little use for money.”

“My money buys the wood you need me to load,” they said coolly, but not without a hint of humor.

“You have always been too clever.” He said with a fond huff. Bloodhound donned their warm clothes and came out. They hooked the two reindeer to the cart, patting them and shushing them. Arthur came to watch, perching on the antlers of Foss while Bloodhound adjusted the harness of Dyn. The two got in the cart and rode through the street, around the Raven’s House and then west to the wood stockpile. In the past, the village had primarily used peat, as was the old ways, but a nearby volcano exploded and made it difficult to find any. So, begrudgingly, wood became the new norm, something Bloodhound heavily helped support. The motherland had once had enough trees as well, but that had been overharvested long ago.

They got out and, under Pabbi’s watchful eye, filled the back of the cart completely and then added a couple bundles between them in the front seat. When they got back, he said a quiet thank you, and they started the cart again. “Are they a man, a woman, or lok?”

“Huh?”

“Whoever writes you.”

“A man.”

“A good man?”

“I believe.” They swallowed.

“Good. I will not have anything but good men for my baby.”

“You insinuate he is something to me.”

He scoffed, with a swift whack to their back. “Of course, he is. You have been living among the Gods for fifteen years and you have never once had someone write you.”

_Oh, to be Mimir_, they thought, kicking themselves. “He is a good friend.”

“No, no. He is more.” Pabbi watched them pick up the bundles and stack them in the woodshed. On their last visit they had built a small hall to connect it to the house because neither Pabbi nor Mamma were much in the mode of shoveling their way out there anymore.

“And just _how_ do you know _that_, hm?” They tossed their head, in the dismissive way they did as a teenager, and cringed immediately at the memory.

“Because,” Pabbie said, with a slight smile, “you give his letters the same reverence you give the stars.”

* * *

When Bloodhound’s face appeared on the screen, Elliot bounced in his chair like a kid on Christmas, and he felt like that, too. Their laugh was breathy, and they had some kind of thick fur-lined coat on, which they slipped off as they got settled in the chair, cheeks and nose rosy red. “Elliot,” they said, smiling.

“Bloodhound!” He grinned. God, his heart was ridiculously happy. Something about knowing they were his, his _lokna_, his partner, even if it was sudden and was proceeded by their immediate departure, it made him miss them more than he might have otherwise. “Jeez, you sound like you ran a mile.”

“I did,” they chuckled, rubbing their cheeks. He could see furs hanging in pairs on the wall behind them, from animals he didn’t recognize; the table and the chair and walls all seemed to be made of the same rough wood. The fur in their coat was unfamiliar as well. He wished he could stick his head through the screen and look around, and not just because it meant he would be near them.

“Why?”

“I…” they looked a bit embarrassed, “I didn’t want Katla to barge in.”

“Oh, is that one of your sisters?”

They sighed, leaning back, arms crossed over their chest. A long-sleeved tunic hung off their shoulders, something like a wool sweater seeming to be underneath it, and a thin belt at the waist that had various hoops hanging from it, some of which occupied by knives. They nestled into the jacket like, well, a bit like a bird. “Unfortunately.” He recognized the fondness in their voice.

He leaned on his hand. An ache began in the left side of his chest. “Okay, I wanna know the order. Also, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” they said quietly, a bang coming from offscreen. Elliot guessed it was the sibling of the hour. “Oldest to youngest, Revna, Yrsa, Katla, Sigrid, and then me. The one trying to break in,” a bang, “is Katla.”

“She sounds lovely.” A shout in words familiar but unknown, followed by Bloodhound turning and shouting back. Then another shout and Bloodhound groaned loudly, got out of the screen and, from the sounds of things, opened the door. Rapid bickering followed by a slam and Bloodhound was in their seat again. They had a sourpuss face on. “So, uh, she’s….as lovely as she sounds?”

“She’s _nosy_,” they said.

He couldn’t hide his amusement. “Did you tell your…family, about us?”

They looked off to the side. “Nooooo. Not…. exactly.”

“Ah?”

“IIIIIIIIIIIIIII….well, Katla figured it out. And Pabbie, my papa. Uhm. They figured it out. I don’t know if the others have.” They sighed. “Probably. I don’t know. The village doesn’t know. And no, I’m not saying anything.”

“When will you?” He prodded, leaning forward slightly; he didn’t know why he was pressing the issue _right now_, but part of him knew they’d dodge the question as long as possible otherwise. That the moment they had him in their arms again, he wouldn’t be able to get a straight answer. He’d thought he had messed up for a moment, by how quiet they went, because they wouldn’t meet his eye, fidgeted. He was worried they’d close the laptop. But then they surprised him.

“When,” they asked, “would you want me to?”

* * *

They released the arrow and watched it sail through the air and pierce the eye of the little brown mink. It fell, twenty or so yards away, having never seen the hunter so intent on its demise.

“You’re losing your touch,” Fiak said as Bloodhound stood slowly from the snowbank, the pure white of their hunting robes, hooded, layered and falling to the mid-calf, wool pants underneath tucked into leather boots, made them nearly invisible against the frigid landscape some ten or twenty miles outside of the village. All they had been able to find so far were little brown minks. The meat was pretty terrible, but Arthur and Vinur, Fiak’s favorite raven, enjoyed them quite a lot. The latter raven, bigger than Arthur, swooped down and carried away its snack toward a rock protrusion a way away.

“I cannot fathom what prompts that observation, cousin.” Bloodhound carried their bow as they began trudging forward. Fiak followed beside and the two appeared as ghosts gliding across the snow-laden landscape.

“You take longer to angle your bow. You have gotten too used to those simpleton guns,” he teased, prodding them with the handle of his hatchet. They had no idea why he’d bothered to bring that damn hatchet. There was no greenery to cut through. They prodded him with their bow, the one Afi had used, that Amma had given them when they were ten. It was good, sturdy, and worn, and they needed to go over the carvings Afi had made around the handle, as they were wearing down.

“You’re just jealous.”

“I’ve fired a gun. I’m not jealous, you’re just lazy.”

They snorted and shoved him, and he shoved them back, the two laughing lightly. They walked quietly again, the ravens sailing overhead, dropping to ride their human companions’ shoulders when tired, Bloodhound drinking the beautiful silence. They walked another ten miles, pausing here and there to nab a mink. Bloodhound found tracks that led to a rabbit den and dropped, belly down into the snow, and was able to thrust their hand into the den and grab the creature by the ears and slice its throat. They placed it in their pack, humming. The game so far had been disappointing, but they were still confident they would find a reindeer before the end of the next day. Granted, usually they had two by now, but it was a very heavy and every early snow, and they were sure another twenty miles out the animals had moved to an overhang the hunter knew of, where the grass would be uncovered.

The sun set around 5pm and they continued walking by starlight and moonlight until eight. They dug away at snow with shovels to make a clearing for their tent, which was not completely unlike a teepee, with a hole in the floor to build a fire and a hole in the roof to let out the smoke. They made a meal of the rabbit and some food they’d brought with them. They talked lightly of their plans for the next day before Fiak got into his sleeping bag and grew quiet; Bloodhound, thinking he was asleep, began to reach into their bag for their writing materials. “Are you going to tell me,” he said, startling Bloodhound so badly they knocked over their bag, “who you write, or am I going to have to guess?”

“No one,” they muttered.

“Mm, a lover.”

They snorted.

“Ah yes, definitely a lover. A man?” They paused. They paused because they terribly wanted to tell someone-brimming with the warmth of every letter he sent, tracing the curve of the fanciful E at the front of his signature, the little jump to their heart when they saw his face in the video calls. But they paused, also, because they knew what everyone would say if word got out. If anyone found out that when Katla got the mail one of the letters was always for them. Fiak propped himself up on an elbow, braids, nine of them in a bundle, spilling across the floor of the tent. “I’ve never told anyone about the night, Hound. Indulge my nosy nature.”

It worked. It always did. They broke with a laugh. “Alright, yes, it’s a man. He’s a man. When has it ever not been a man?”

“I seem to recall a tryst with Eira when we were young.”

They waved their hand at him, gathering their writing materials now, folding out a small wooden table that sat over their crossed legs. “Jaeja, that was an experiment. He’s a man. Elliot.”

He moved his mouth around the foreign sounds. “Strange name.”

“I like it.”

“You like strange things.”

“So do you. Like your wife.” They ducked the rabbit bone chucked at them, grinning.

Fiak laid back down. “So, this Elliot. How did you find him?”

“He is a felagi from the Games. He…he saved my identity.” They sighed. “It’s a mess, it’s all a mess, but somehow it ended in a relationship. I’ve messed up so badly, Fiak. I kissed him and went missing. I didn’t tell him I’d be gone for months until the day before. And now he writes every day.”

“You’ve always had a high _hamingja_.” He said, amused. “Maybe he finds your idiocy endearing.”

“Like you and your wife?”

He held up a rabbit bone threateningly. “You can dig a bed in the snow.”

They smiled. “Will your wife be joining me?” They caught the bone, laughing, their chest light as a feather.

* * *

_Elliot, _

_Thank you for the poem. I never thought someone would compare me to a pork chop and I’d be flattered. As with you, very little is going on. I am mostly being nagged at. Yrsa’s wife, Jorunn, keeps bringing their children to the house. I love my nephews and nieces and my parents are always happy to have grandchildren over, but I can only give so many pigs back rides (that’s what you call them, yes?) before I want to dig a den in the snow. _

_Before I forget, I will be leaving with my cousin on a hunting trip tomorrow. We are hoping for reindeer, but the snow is heavier than usual so it might take some time. I will write you each day, but the letters won’t send until we get back. Our call will have to be late, I’m sorry. But only by a day or two. _

_I hope you don’t have trouble keeping busy. I know you like to. _

_Sorry. Again. _

_-Bloth_

“Here,” Elliot walked up to Wraith and clipped a large disk to the front of her shirt. Her hair was wild, greasy and hanging around her face in strands and clumps. He was shirtless in ratty sweatpants. Neither had slept much in the past few days. The disk, about three inches thick, pulled her crumpled V neck low enough to reveal her bra. Elliot would make a joke about who she was wearing black lace for if he wasn’t so tired and so worried if it would work.

“So, I just press the middle?”

“Yeah, Ironman.” He stepped back. She looked down again, touching the black metal rim, running her finger across the foam middle before pressing inward, a small blue light shining as the thing hummed. “Okay, that’s a good sign.”

“It feels kind of like a cat purring.”

“Weird.” He opened the door and turned on the hall light. “Phase from here to the living room.”

“On it.” She walked, running her fingers through her hair, then phased. There was no trace of her; no trail, no ash-like purple falling where she once stood. He followed and she emerged again without a single speck of indication she had been there. Elliot controlled himself, somehow, making her run it a total of ten times, which tired her out ridiculously, but when she appeared in front of him the last time, he shouted, “it works! Holy shit, it works!” He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. “It _fucking_ works!”

She was panting, beaming like a star. “It works,” she said, much quieter before collapsing in a chair, pressing the button to turn the thing off while Elliot jumped around like a cracked-out gerbil. “You just cloaked an interdimensional freakshow, Eli. Good job.”

“Oh my _God_ it _works_,” he squealed and then flung himself face-first on the floor, which hurt a lot more than his brain had anticipated. “I can die happy now.”

“Not quite. This means we have a lot to do tomorrow.”

He nodded, propping himself up on his elbows. “Right, right. We need rest and food, and to review the game plan. You take a shower first. I’ll order pizza.”

She nodded, struggling a moment to stand, then shakily making her way to the bathroom, leaning on the door frame for a bit before turning to him, the softest of smiles on her face. “Thank you, Elliot.”

* * *

There was a fence along the entire length of the canyon, invisible during broadcast, that kept out fans, IMC sympathizers, Militia veterans who wanted a go at the old structures, miscellaneous weirdos and Legends who wanted in after hours. If the fence was cut you were electrocuted. If it was climbed, you were electrocuted. If you tried to cross in front of the guards, you were electrocuted. Wraith had tried to cross it by phasing through, but it turned out there was a backup mechanism where, like a spiders web, disturbance from a physical form sent out a signal to a video control room. The trail from phasing was seen, and she had been threatened with worse than expulsion from the Games if she did it again.

But Wraith was desperate. The voices crowded her mind, squeezing against the confines of her skull as a thousand whispers told her there was _something_ in the Shattered Forest, but she never had the time to look properly. She’d gone to Natalie, who said the fence got triggered by a lot of things; branches, twigs, squirrels, sometimes a strong enough wind. “If they can’t see you,” she whispered, “they can’t catch you.”

Wraith said she knew no one better at tricking the eye than him. Elliot wanted to object because she’d met his mom that one time, but she’d made him shut up, sit down and listen. And he’d agreed to help because it was the right thing to do. And because he wanted to know if he could actually make something that good, a cloaking device so precise it could erase the trillionths of centimeter pieces of Wraith that remained before she popped out of the void on the other side. That he could make it at all was a miracle. That he did it in three days was incomprehensible. But he had, and he did, and if they survived this batshit insane quest he was going to write Bloth all about it.

It was dark. He was in the bushes a dozen yards away, his own cloaking device ready in the event of disaster. Wraith was just out of the camera's view, clenching and unclenching her hands. She pressed the button. Elliot held his breath as she phased, seeing no trace of her, but knowing she was in the canyon when she didn’t reappear within fifteen seconds. He breathed deeply and settled to wait, prone in the bushes, chin resting on his wrist as he looked toward the Shattered Forest.

Nothing happened for a while. He might have even fallen asleep a little. Just a titch. Wasn’t drooling or anything. But then there was a noise-it wasn’t a bang or a boom, but a low reverberation, the kind that rattled bones, turned the gut, made the heart shiver. He was up and awake in a second. A faint purple glow out at the top of the tower just outside Hydro Damn. He squinted, seeing a tiny trail upward.

First came the scream.

Then came the earthquake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Y'all are always so much appreciated, reviews, kudos, or views, I enjoy writing so much more knowing other people are enjoying what I've created. I genuinely hope you've had good 2020's so far and that they stay that way.
> 
> hamingja - Basically luck. In old Norse it is considered a part of the self and is not variable; someone is born with luck, a lot, a little, a mild amount-it can't be changed. 
> 
> Jaeja-it...really kind of means whatever the speaker wants it to mean. It's sort of a term of dismissal, or complaint, or teasing whine. The sources I found even vary on what it means. So, eh. 
> 
> I'm going to start putting definitions of things at the ends of chapters. At the end of the fic, I intend to put a page of sources (maybe even in MLA format if I'm feeling fancy) that I use for Bloodhound (though also for whatever else that required research on my part)


	13. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nudes and promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little later in the day but yeet. Thanks for all the feedback and love y'all, means the world

They were hardly awake when Sigrid leaped onto them from behind. They lurched forward, hollering as they ran into the wall on the landing of the stairs, Sigrid cackling and jumping off before they could turn and smush her against the wall. She pulled them into a tight hug. “Happy Birthday!” She grinned, freckles prominent on her cheeks, dark hair in nine tight braids pulled up like a ponytail. She grabbed their cheeks and pinched, then pulled their lips into a smile. “How does it feel to be a slightly older baby?”

Bloodhound blew a very large raspberry.

“Ewww!”

Sigrid hopped away, wiping her hands on her apron. Bloodhound laughed on their way down the stairs, ducking to dodge a hug attack from Katla, though she still got them from behind. Mamma was much more reasonable and gently touched their cheeks, hardly having to pull them down at all to kiss their forehead. “Another year under the Allfather’s sun, little one, and you only look better for it.”

“Mamma,” they smiled, “you know how to make getting older seem a little less terrible.”

She laughed lightly and patted their cheeks before turning back to the stove, adding another log to the fire growing within. “Oh, just think of it as an excuse to eat cake.”

“Hundur doesn’t need an _excuse_ to eat cake,” Katla said.

“Hey! Fokk off.”

Mamma turned and whacked them on the hip with a wooden spoon, making Bloodhound yelp. Katla pointed and laughed until she got whacked on the head. This was quite a feat, given she was 8 inches taller than their mother. “No teasing, no foulness. Behave.”

“Yes Mamma,” they half mumbled, maybe smiling a little bit at each other. It was fun to get a rise out of her. Revna and Yrsa came in then, much to Bloodhound’s surprise, as they had thought they’d be gone hunting until cake in the evening (which was, as it had been for all the birthdays they could recollect, blueberry skyr). Yrsa carried a large box that she dropped on the dining table with a thud, turning and hugging Bloodhound, followed by Revna, who ruffled their hair like she always did, knowing it made it fluff up terribly. But Bloodhound was too happy to care, really; they actually loved their birthday, ignoring the aging part. What could be said? Even the hunter liked to get spoiled sometimes. And then they looked down and saw that their entire sweater was shimmering.

And then they looked at the box.

It was practically encased in stickers. Watermelons, cherries, trucks and cars and spaceships, ice cream, cartoons and toys, big word bubbles, lollipops and a smattering of old Halloween stickers. But the one that was both glitter culprit and calling card sat on top. TROUBLE, in big, white letters stamped in a thick bed of golden glitter, filled half the top of the box. They bit the inside of their cheek to keep from grinning. _Subtle, Elliot_.

“This is from that friend, yes?” Revna moved to allow Pabbie to gather with the rest of the family, who were understandably as curious as Bloodhound. “He has…”

“Flair.” Yrsa said.

Bloodhound grabbed a kitchen knife with a twirl that made Katla roll her eyes and inclined their head. “One could say that,” they said, slitting the thick line of tape and stickers that kept the box closed and, being cautious, cracked it open. They threw their head back and practically howled with laughter, flipping the box over and letting its contents cascade onto the table: an erroneous, an insurmountable, a ridiculous, a borderline _illegal_ amount of candy spilled onto the dining table, flowing over the edges and onto the floor; chocolates, mints, gum, sours, mounds of black licorice and chocolate covered raisins and a good deal of things they’d never tried or heard of, like ring pops and something called a Nik-L-Nip, a name which seemed a little questionable for a candy. On top was a letter with a winking face drawn on it, along with a little sticky note that they grabbed, subtly tucking the letter in their pocket.

“This,” they read the note aloud in their mother tongue, thankful for Elliot’s impeccable handwriting, “should tide you over until you come back. Though I’d like to know what everyone else thinks of some of these. Don’t make yourself sick again. -E.” They laughed, seeing a note from Anita in the corner. “What we are saying is share, you fat bastard. Anita.”

That got a laugh from everyone, who all knew of Anita well. There was no hesitation from Revna in going for the licorice. “I cannot decide, little one,” she said, “if your friends are sweet, or trying to kill you.”

“Both,” Bloodhound said, tucking the note away.

“Does this mean you do not want the cake?” Mama looked over.

Bloodhound shook their head rapidly, nearly shrill as they exclaimed, “of course I want cake!”

Everyone laughed, Katla nudging them. “Planning on turning your usual ten pounds to twenty, sibling?”

“No,” they said, tossing a peanut butter cup in the air and catching it in their mouth. “Thirty.”

The morning was spent with Bloodhound happily doling out various foreign candies and cackling at the reactions of their family, good and bad. The general consensus that everything was ridiculously sweet, but everyone liked the ring pops, and the Nik-L-Nips were fun once they figured out one wasn’t supposed to chew the (WAX?!) bottle. Yrsa and Revna were late for their hunting trip (and a little sick from the sweets) and Sigrid left after breakfast to tend to her children, leaving just Bloodhound, Katla, and their parents. This afforded the hunter a small moment to run up to their room and read the letter.

They pulled the letter out at their desk, a set of photos falling face down on the wood. They froze, suddenly remembering their little conversation with Elliot. _No… _They unfolded the letter. A big drawing of a heart. Nothing else. They placed it on the table, and took a hold of the photos, breathing deeply. _He did not send these to my parents address, he did not send these to my parents address, he did not send these to my parents address…_

They flipped them over.

They gasped, a shock of heat traveling straight from their groin to their face. He _did_. And they were _so. hot_. They covered their mouth, laying them out side by side. Six pictures. He laid on his bed naked with his legs crossed at the ankle, white covers rumpled around him and a pillow under his head as he gazed at the camera, the light came in from the windows casting him in a soft gray that was almost ethereal. Another he was standing in the kitchen with a towel over his shoulder, a pan with porkchop in hand, briefs that hid nothing. A sexy cowboy costume, just assless chaps, a bandana and a hat-a getup that almost had them in tears laughing. Wearing only a turtleneck, casting bedroom eyes and a soft smile they felt in their chest, holding down the collar to brandish the love bites they’d left in a frenzy. One sprawled on the couch in the sunlight, and the last on the balcony (_which might have given Bloodhound some ideas_) where he sat in a chair, looking out to the canyon, crossed leg hiding most of what was indecent and a hand tousling the freshly dyed yellow curls.

He hadn’t just taken these all at once. He’d taken them at opportune moments over the near month they’d been gone. He’d put thought and time into each one.

They swallowed hard and looked up, fanning themself with the pictures_. Gods have mercy, what am I going to do with him? _They didn’t think he’d _actually_ do it. Not having the time to give into some of their more clandestine desires they put the pictures together, like cards, and went to shove them in the envelope, stopping as they saw a stray picture. They put the others down and pulled it out, flipping it over, and it made them feel something entirely different to its compatriots.

It was not raunchy in any sense of the word. It was a candid of Elliot from the waist up, off center by the kitchen window with the sun shining brightly on his curls and face, obscuring them in a celestial way, with the kind of smile on his face that gleamed, the one that came before brimming laughter, before gentle amazement, that glowed into the heart at the thought of the day yet taken. It was a startlingly real sort of thing that existed in brief moments, blinks and glances and flashes, elusive as creatures a galaxy away that had adapted to reflect their environment like mirrors. But someone, someone had captured it. And now Bloodhound had that moment in their hand. They tucked it in their prayer book, where it would be safe.

“Hundur!” Their mother called, startling them, “Magnus is here!”

Bloodhound, in their hurry to get down the stairs, neglected to put the other pictures away.

* * *

The canyon caved. Elliot couldn’t tell his scream from the one out in the forest, couldn’t tell if his ears were ringing or it was the echo of his own terror. He was going to die, crushed like a tomato on the kitchen floor of an Italian restaurant. He knew the protection against fall damage only operated inside the fence-the fence! He’d only been a few yards away from it-where was it? There! Unbroken, falling with everything else. He dived, the same way he did every Game, and he grabbed the chain-link. It electrocuted him immediately.

He woke up on the canyon floor. It was dark, and he realized it was because he was buried, though with enough room to stand, once he managed it. He coughed, feeling around gently; it was all canyon rubble, mostly rock. Given Elliot wasn’t always the brightest bulb on the block, and he was also more than slightly concussed, he started digging himself out at a semi-upwards angle. By a stroke of luck the whole “cave” didn’t collapse on him, but the wall gave out, making a big enough hole for him to escape, but also sending a stream of rocks and dust inside. In particular a small boulder rolled in and crushed the front half of his foot. He heard the crunch. He wouldn’t be able to eat chips for weeks. Still the adrenaline high was unreal, so he pushed the boulder off his foot, placed his hands on the mouth of his exit, and launched himself outside.

He slid down an islands worth of rubble, thinking that he had maybe gotten a few more cuts than he thought, and flipped onto his back once he hit bottom. The three-hundred-foot canyon wall had collapsed fifteen feet back. It seemed the fence had saved his life, because from where he was sitting it appeared that by grabbing it, he’d prevented himself from getting buried so deep he wouldn’t be able to dig himself back out.

_Bloth isn’t gonna believe this_. But he could worry about that later. He looked around, hobbling, needing a stick or a really long, weird piece of rock to support himself with, but finding just rubble, mounds and mounds of it. Had he not been more than slightly concussed, he probably would have stopped to marvel at the sheer ferocity of nature or wonder at the Apex Tower and how it was still standing despite hanging off the edge by half. Or at least hear the frantic screams from everyone who hadn’t just survived free-falling three hundred feet into a canyon. He found an odd fence post that had been wrestled from the rest of the fence and took it. At this point, Elliot’s more than slightly concussed brain realized it could see in the night, and quite well. He looked up.

“Oh, probably ‘cause of the giant portal,” he noted, staring at the giant portal above where he’d seen Wraith however long ago. It was unbelievably huge and incomprehensibly bright, a swirling purple vortex of light. He could hear a faint hum even where he stood, miles away. That thought on his mind, he had to get to Wraith, and quickly; since he hadn’t already been found and put in medical bay, it was safe to say the Syndicate had never been prepared for an earthquake of any kind. This gave him time. He could usually do one end of the canyon to the other in ten minutes with two good feet and three guns on his ass. With no guns on his ass and one good foot, but a real sturdy walking stick, he was thinking he’d make it to the forest in about twenty. It was the front half of his foot that was broken, his heel seeming to be fine or in less-broken-than-the-front-part shape, so he managed to use it as a sort-of-foot, half pole-vaulting his way along the grass.

Stretching his already insane luck for the evening, he made the forest in ten, about the time Wraith coming out of a laboratory that seemed to have been unearthed during the quake. He saw her, stopping. “Wraith!”

“Elliot?” She looked horrified, running over. Though Elliot had just sailed into a canyon wall at bullshit-miles-per-hour, gotten buried and broken his foot, then vaulted himself a few miles over rough terrain with one good leg and a fence post, he still looked better than her. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Fell in the canyon. We gotta-“ He stopped as the ground began to rumble again. Wraith grabbed him, pulling him away from the edge of the rubble around the lab as it began collapsing. They made it to the steps of the platform by the tower. There was a reverberating crack and the earth split. A hollow moan from Hydro Dam; they looked back and watched as the repulsor tower fell impossibly slow, smashing into the ground as another aftershock attacked the canyon. “W-What did you do?”

“Fuckin something.” She hooked an arm around him.

“We have to go, the Syndicate works fast.”

“Go? Go the fuck where? Elliot, this is a literal,” she stumbled, and they braced against each other, “this is a literal, ongoing disaster.”

“So is the Syndicate.” He looked around, then saw water rushing into the crack they’d narrowly missed. “The water. There are boats in Swamps. We can grab one and get out of here.”

“There’s a giant purple vortex, Elliot, I don’t think they-“

“Plausible deniability, Wraith! J-Just help me, okay?”

She furrowed her brow giving him a long, hard look. Then she nodded once. “Okay.”

* * *

Wraith sort of gently chucked her friend into the inflatable raft, then got in herself and set to rowing. She fussed at him when he started helping, but he wasn’t about to be persuaded otherwise. With both rowing they reached a few hundred meters without much fuss, but after that they had to pause and look around. “Shit,” she muttered.

“Yeah.” Elliot was beginning to feel the numbing burn in his foot. The canyon was flanked on either side by very tall cliffs, though most were unaffected by the earthquake. The sea was long, and black, and waves began to rock the boat as the Leviathan’s shifted toward Kings Canyon.

“We need to get up there. Somehow.” She laughed slightly. “What’s the plan now, mastermind?”

Elliot, who was thinking he might need to get concussed more often if it meant he got ideas so much quicker, said, “you have your phone?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Lemme see it.” She passed it over. Elliot scrolled through the contacts, tapped what he was looking for, and leaned back, watching the Leviathan’s start to move toward the canyon. Their steps made massive waves, one of which rolled their boat several yards in the right direction. Convenient. “Hey, Jordyn? Do you think you can grab your old man’s tow truck?”

If it weren’t for the complete disaster around them, the light Wraith’s portal threw across the canyon, casting bruise colored shadows on the Leviathan’s as they hurried into the newly available territory, and the cloudy half-moon the shimmered on the black ocean waves would have been beautiful. But right now, the Leviathan’s waves were making the boat bob along, almost capsizing, sloshing inky ocean water in and leaving two Legends chattering their teeth. Elliot was forced to become aware of the numerous cuts and gashes across his body, his clothes far more shredded than he’d noticed earlier. Wraith looked like she might pass out. But somehow, they grabbed the oars and rowed toward the cliffs, both more terrified than they cared to admit of the rocks lurking below.

The waves licked up the cliffs, so they stayed off a way until they saw Jordyn. He had tied a good three hundred feet of industrial rope on the trucks hook, at the end of the rope a canvas hammock, secured several times over. “That’s nerve wracking,” Wraith managed through teeth clenched against the cold.

“This isn’t?” Elliot said casually as he was almost flung out of the boat backwards.

“Well, he failed out of boyscouts, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but he got the knot badge.” He paused. “Or was that the nut badge?”

Wraith looked like she might stay in the boat.

Because of how unstable the boat was the hammock had to be dipped into the water. Elliot got in before Wraith could say anything, the shock of cold and salt making every single muscle in every centimeter of his body scream and spasm. Jordyn raised it slightly and Elliot reached out, pulling Wraith into his lap. She leaned over, trying to be careful of his foot while stabbing the boat with her kunai, rolling it up as Jordyn started lifting them, yelping as she almost fell out.

“I got you!” Elliot grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into him. They swayed a moment, the boat swinging, half rolled. He was pretty sure he could feel her heart beating, and she could feel his. He held her tighter. “This’ll be a story for Bloth,” he found himself saying in the unfitting silence.

“Maybe not this part,” Wraith said, her face close enough he could see the dark blue rim around her iris. Elliot sort of registered what was going on and snorted.

“I dunno. They’re into some shit.”

She cocked her head at him and, of all things, she laughed.

Jordyn, in his pajamas, took the boat and chucked it in the space behind the tow trucks bench seat. Wraith got off the swirling death hammock first, haggardly coming to lean on the passenger door while Jordyn helped Elliot out, who had to be practically carried over. “T-Thanks man,” Elliot puffed, Jordyn saying nothing while he went back to remove the hammock and toss it in the back. Elliot began to strip his clothes.

“I-is n-n-now really the t-time?” Wraith gave him a _look_.

“You’ll g-get h-h-hyp-po-you’ll get s-s-sick in wet c-clothes.” He inhaled sharply as he pulled what was left of his pants over his bad foot, leaning against the side of the truck and hopping to get the other off. “G-Get naked, dumb a-ass.”

Wraith made a face, being a very modest person, but finally conceded when she shivered bad enough to almost knock herself over. Her underthings were nice blue lace. “I s-sup-pose I chose a good d-day to match my und-d-derw-wear.”

Elliot chatter-wheezed, because he was too cold to laugh. Wraith managed to get in the car on her own, but Jordyn had to help Elliot in. He threw a blanket over them as they huddled together, no one bothering with seatbelts. Jordyn drove back out onto the road that was quiet as a morgue, faint tremors still shaking the ground as he turned toward Solace City.

* * *

The one birthday they _didn’t_ drink enough brennevin to kill a horse was also the one birthday they came up to their room, alight and merry and warm, to find Katla holding nude photos of their boyfriend. She turned her head to them, eyes wide, like a particularly surprised owl. If there were ever a moment Bloodhound thought suicide was a solid idea, it was that one. Unfortunately, they’d left their knife downstairs.

“Well.” Katla put the photos down. “That’s an interesting use for a camera.”

They swallowed then stood tall as they could, snarling. “If you tell anyone I will murder you.”

She shook her head and paused, frowning. “How serious is this, Hundur?”

Bloodhound’s stance faltered. “I…”

“Hundur? Blóðhundur, the last time…”

“I know,” their voice broke and they inhaled. They knew there was no way out of this, and they hated the feeling, being cornered like prey. Confronted with their own beast. They closed their door and walked to the table, quickly scooping the pictures into the envelope. “This is different.”

“He is a foreigner,” Katla agreed softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “A very dark foreigner.”

A trembling laugh broke their lips. “Oh Katla, you have not seen dark. But…yes, he is. He was born and raised in the Outlands.”

“And you have known him…” she glanced at the envelope, “how long?”

“Known of him? A little over a year, I think. Been…involved?” They needed something to do, something to fold or write or fiddle with. Oh, how they wished for their knife. How they wished for Arthur. Katla silently passed them her worry stone. “Several weeks. A couple months? I can’t remember. He saved my identity from being revealed by shooting out some cameras. And he never breathed a word, and he…he was beautifully kind, and patient and funny... and I feel…feel like I can trust him.”

Katla patted the bed beside her, laying back. Bloodhound laid beside her, staring at the ceiling. They used to do this, them and Katla, as children. The middle child and the baby, side by side, pausing their bickering for a precious moment of silence. “I worry about you, Hundur.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want that to happen to you again.”

They inhaled deeply. “I already think Freya is a bit of a bitch, but that would just be cruel.”

“The Gods are cruel, sometimes.”

Bloodhound turned their head, meeting her eyes. “I think if there are two in this family who understand that, it is us.”

She smiled faintly. “I suppose it is.”

“It’s painful to admit, isn’t it?” They looked back at the ceiling. There were knife holes in it, from a rather interesting adolescence. “Fate and destiny, they are cruel. And mean, and sad and bastardly. And we can’t do a single thing about it.”

“No, except enjoy the parts that are good. See what path our road takes. And know nothing can stop us until the time comes.” They could hear the bit of a smile in her voice. “Nothing has ever stopped you, Hundur. Not even the Gods.”

A wry smile graced their lips. “Oh, they’ve tried.”

A pause. “Did you ever figure out why the Allfather sent you to the Games?”

They hesitated. “No. I thought I was there to, to bring honor to the sport, or to him. But it does not feel right. I can’t find my reason for being there, versus the woods or the desert or wherever else. But I continue because…”

“I know why you continue, Hundur. But I, well, this man, do you have a picture of him?” _With clothes on_, they could hear that in their head, blushing but nevertheless getting up, grabbing the photo from their prayer book and laying back down, handing it to Katla. She examined the photo quietly, angling it in the dim candlelight. “Strong cheekbones, good scars-he has battled outside of the ring?”

“In his own way,” they said.

“Well, they are good scars. And a good smile. Though…there is a sadness in his eyes, isn’t there?”

“He’s led a sad life.” They held back a moment, not sure if Elliot would want them saying anything, but deciding what little they knew could be held safely by their sister. “His father is dead, his brothers all went missing in the war, and from what he has told me he…lost all of his friends during or after the war. He went to college and lost all but one person from there too. All he has is his mother.”

She was resting the photo on her chest, frowning. “That…wait, he lost friends before college and that’s…”

“They were children, Katla.” Bloodhound swallowed. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Gods.”

“I don’t ask.”

“I feel guilty.”

“Don’t. He’d hate that. The last thing he would want is for anyone to feel as he has.”

She was quiet again. “Have you told him?”

Bloodhound was confused at first but quickly shook their head once they realized. “No.”

“You need to tell him.”

“But I-”

She held up her palm, sitting up and looking down at them. “You said you feel like you can trust him. Do you trust him?”

Their lip trembled. “I do.”

“Does he trust you?”

“He does.”

She stuck out her hand, taking theirs and, in one movement, pulling herself and them to their feet. “Then you give him the same level of respect, Hundur. Don’t you dare expect him to trust you, and be honest with you, and you not do the same. Especially about this.”

Bloodhound frowned.

“Promise you’ll tell him when you get back to the Gods, Hundur.” They were quiet. She squeezed their hand. “Promise.”

They felt like they might collapse from guilt. Their voice was barely a breath. “_I promise_.”

* * *

It was two days later that Jordyn brought in Elliot’s mail and handed it to him. He and Wraith had been sharing the pullout couch at Jordyn’s studio since the Apex Tower had been evacuated. Elliot looked at the letters, Bloodhound’s swoopy handwriting that was somewhere between chicken scratch and Victorian manuscript, then looked down at his foot. Because it ended up being twelve or more hours before he could get medical attention, even the best hospital couldn’t get all the bones back in place with the re-alignment machine. It’d taken a three-hour surgery, and now a four-week cast. He was just glad he made it before the 20-hour mark, otherwise, it would have been 8 weeks.

He ran his finger under the lip of the envelope. Wraith popped her head out from under the covers. “Bloodhound?”

“Yeah.”

“Are they gonna worry because you haven’t been writing?” She looked drawn, having barely left the bed since they got there.

“No, I sent a letter before I started working on the cloaking device. Said I’d be busy. Anita got the package out to them for their birthday, so this is probably about that.” He laughed lightly and pulled out the letter.

_Elliot, _

_Thank you for my present. I’ll thank you properly when I see you. But this will have to do for now. _

_-Bloth._

“” This will have to do for now?” What does that mea-“

“Uh.” He looked over. Wraith was holding a polaroid, eyes wide. “Uh. Sorry. I just sort of looked.”

Elliot suddenly remembered what he sent Bloth for their birthday. He snatched the picture and looked. They were sitting, legs crossed at the knee, on the edge of a bed, arms lazily to their sides, head tilted just right, backed by dim orange light. They had on a single button-up shirt, low on their chest, barely covering their lap. Technically not a nude, but the look in their half-lidded eyes made him feel things. _I’ll thank you properly when I see you._

Aaaaaaaaand Wraith had seen it. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” She swallowed, quiet. “They’re beautiful.”

He looked at the picture again and sighed, letting it lay on his chest. The picture was one of the most gorgeous things he’d ever seen. And Bloth was the single most beautiful person in the world. “Yeah.”

“Can’t believe you swung that.”

“Hey. I got nice hair.” He looked at the picture again. They’d finally dyed their hair back. It looked almost orange in the light with how light a blonde it was. “I just hope they don’t kill me for you knowing. Natalie already does. She hasn’t seen their face, but she knows about us.”

Wraith breathed deeply. “Well, you know the secret is safe with me. I just hope they do.”

“Yeah.” He folded the picture back in with the letter. “Thanks, Wraith.”

She didn’t respond for a second. “Renee.”

“What?” He propped himself up on an elbow.

“Renee.” She looked at him, lips turning into a trembling smile. “My name is Renee Blasey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fuck is up with Bloodhound? The fuck is up with Kings Canyon? The fuck is up Kyle?
> 
> All this and more in the next chapter
> 
> (which I hope I can eventually make these weekly chapters once I get a more solidified plotline going on. I'm a mess)
> 
> Also I'm guessing the chapters are going to end up longer than the usual 2-3k mark. I doubt anyone minds that but heads up I guess?
> 
> Oh also I opened up a ko-fi and an email for writing commissions if anyone wants those? Idk, links and shit are in my profile.


	14. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old ally; a new discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. 
> 
> A big reveal there be.

“That was amazing.”

His drone was brandished at the man’s throat before he could have possibly defended himself. Tae Joon slowly lowered it after a moment. “It’s you.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Who else would it be?”

“Could be anyone.” He sat down again, facing the man, his baggy sweatpants, his shirt with holes around the worn rim, greasy hair splaying from under a beanie. He had to admit, he admired his dedication to discretion.

“Should I knock?”

“Most people do.”

The man shrugged. “Whatever. Point is, that was amazing. I have no idea how you did it all, but you really fucked up that canyon.”

Tae Joon said nothing.

“So, safe to say we can start phase two, huh?” The man grinned.

“Not yet.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The Syndicate is not weak; they have lost one arena, but they are still at their stronghold. We must wait for them to move. And they will capitalize on the chaos before that, _baegopeun saekkideul iig._”

“I have no idea what shit you just spouted after that,” he said, “but if they’re still going to chuck everyone down there to play, what was the point of all the fuckin’ cash I gave you?”

“They still have to move. It’s too big a risk to play there exclusively.” He nodded to a far wall, his drone projecting a live feed of a risk algorithm straight from the Games database, hundreds of possibilities like “permadeath” and “debilitating injury (irreversible)” followed by percentage likelihood. “The flyers are a particularly high risk because they can carry a Legend outside of the resurrection field. Otherwise all the systems were compromised; what was once a one-percent risk is now a ten. I’m not putting myself against those odds.”

“That’s what I gave you money for, isn’t it?”

He pursed his lips. “No. You gave me money to hack their system and dig into the Legends personal files. You didn’t give me money to risk myself unnecessarily. At any rate they have already chosen the next Legend for the coming season. I used the distraction to enter my files, so I will enter the season after.”

The man paused. Tae Joon was glad he didn’t pace. A lot of his clients liked to pace, clink their heavy feet along the metal floor of whatever hole he could find, glower and sneer at him like taller, uglier rats with half the cranial capacity. But this man was always quiet, aware of every noise he made. It was what he would expect from a proper criminal. “That’s several months from now.”

“Yes, it is. I told you, this takes time. I do this right, or not at all.” He would do it without him as easily. But not as quickly.

“Fine.” He huffed. “I’ll wait. You’ll know where to reach me-but send me those files.”

“_Mullon-iya_.”

“Sure.” He rubbed his hands together, gave a slight nod to the hacker, then left without ceremony. Tae Joon closed and locked the door behind him. Normally it was always locked, but in the minute it took him to bring in his dinner the bastard had walked in. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

He popped open the cardboard container and let himself have a moment to breathe in the smell before looking back up at his screens, Yon flitting around and scanning things in the background. The biggest news-the only news-was spanning across the screen; landscape shots of Kings Canyon, smoking, jagged and overrun by beasts. A vortex of intense violet present in almost every shot. The spinning line at the bottom detailing that all charges against Wraith were dropped due to an airtight alibi and that, currently, no Apex Official knew what had happened, verbatim.

He flicked his finger, rewinding the story again and again, watching each detail, relishing every bit of destruction. He had no idea who caused it, or how. He suspected Wraith might be lying, but everything about her was a whole other level of weird.

However it had happened, whoever had done it, he hoped to buy them a drink.

* * *

Two Weeks Post-Disaster

Elliot loved the city, the nooks and crannies and secrets, but his mother had always loved big, open spaces. She’d always wanted a garage the size of a small palace for her work, and in this house she had it. She’d always wanted a garden big enough to feed three city blocks, and now it was big enough to feed four. She’d always wanted a yellow house with a kitchen window that let her watch her grandchildren play in the yard, and as Elliot watched the sheer white curtains with little embroidered flowers blow in the breeze, he felt like he’d almost repaid her for everything she’d ever done for him.

She set a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him, stirring him from a reverie. She patted his cheek. “Daydreaming again, _peque_?”

“Always.” He smiled, forcibly relaxing, thumbing the picture in his palm. He suddenly remembered the one his mother had, of his dad, in a ring she always wore. He remembered his dad telling him he’d gotten her a ring because she complained necklaces were so _common_, so incredibly _common. _Evelyn Witt was not one to trend towards common; she might have been of average height and weight, but her hair was an uncommonly beautiful tousle of curls with so few silver hairs that at sixty-three she looked a good fifteen years younger than she was, her eyes were an uncommonly deep amber-brown, and in the same vein as her son she held an uncommon charm in a face that was not eternally youthful as much as it was elegantly aged, a face that held its two scars, one running askew on her chin from eating the concrete on her first date with his father, the other a line below her eye, with unprecedented refinement. Elliot joked he was just trying to copy her when he got his eye scar; though hers was from doing something stupid in her workshop, while Elliot’s was from doing something stupid in his bar. “Hey, Ma.”

“Hey, child.”

“Just wanted to let you know I’m dating somebody now.” He timed it perfectly; she went to flip a pancake and, in her surprise, put too much force into the up motion and sent the thing flying out the kitchen window. _Who said that engineering degree would be useless?_

“What? Who? Since when? Where are they, why didn’t you tell me-what do they do, did you meet them at the Games, what, what,” she stopped herself as Elliot started laughing and cursed at him in Spanish, Elliot ducking as she lightly whacked him with the back of her hand. “You’re lucky I’m not wearing sandals, you. Little. _Rascal_.” She emphasized each word with a whack. Renee was quite enjoying the scene from the other end of the table.

He kept laughing into the table as he brought out the photo. Bloodhound had sent it after their last SpaceNet call on his request; they’d agreed, in their first call, that Elliot could tell his mother when he himself felt ready, and that he’d tell Bloodhound beforehand. It was nerve wracking, but now felt right. Especially with Bloth coming back a week after New Years. He wanted her to meet them so, so badly.

The photo was Bloodhound standing beside a statue of a old dude with a spear and a hat, wearing a reindeer skin coat (and no, Elliot did not cope well with the idea of them wearing Rudolph) and their hair over their shoulder, “_nine braids that are then separated into threes and used to make a single braid. I haven’t had my hair long enough to do it in years.”_ They had Arthur on the opposite shoulder, and they were smiling, the photo from an oddly low angle but, whatever, still looked nice. Evelyn snatched the photo immediately and looked at it, pausing when she saw it was a Polaroid, tilting it toward the light. “This is her…him…”

“Them.” Elliot smiled some.

“Oh, okay. They’re very pretty.”

“Way out of his league, right?” Wraith grinned over her pile of pancakes.

“Shut up,” Elliot said at the same moment his mother made a noise he knew to mean _yeah, kinda._ “Mom!”

“Well, they look like they could kick your butt, son.”

“They can.” He sighed. “They have.”

“And the bird, what’s with the bird?”

He leaned back. “Mom, think of someone I know with a bird.”

Elliot, he would have never gotten it, if he was his mother. He would have sat there dumbly and made a couple stupid guesses and waited for his kid to laugh and tell him the answer. But Elliot wasn’t his mother; she got it almost immediately. “A-Are you telling me you’re _with_ Bloodhound?”

He nodded. His hands were clammy. No one else had ever mattered quite like this.

“Why Eli…how did you manage that?”

He smiled, gesturing at the chair across from him. “It’s a story, Ma, it’s a story.”

* * *

They were loading the plane, doing their checks, talking to their bird. In two and a half days they would be on Solace. They would see Elliot for the first time in almost three months.

Their hands were shaking a little.

They turned out of habit, to doubly make sure they hadn’t left anything, finding Katla, arms crossed. “Hundur.”

“What are you doing-” the statement quickly covered by a sudden hug. They blinked, but returned it. “I already hugged you.”

She pulled back, hands on their shoulders, they having to crane their head up to look her in the eye. “Promise me you’ll tell him, Blóðhundur.”

“Gods, of course you’re on that again.”

She squeezed their shoulders. “Promise me.”

They breathed deeply, that tight feeling returning to their chest, their throat fighting against swallowing. “I promise.

* * *

“You’re sure about this?”

“Why not, I have the money, don’t I?” Renee was tired, fidgety. “And now I have the time. I don’t know if I’ve found everything I can through the Games, but it’s safe to say I’m not finding anything else at Kings Canyon for a while, if not forever.”

“Where the hell do you plan to go?” Elliot covered the potatoes and set them on the back burner to keep warm, salad already made and waiting. Bubbles, Blossom and Buttercup, Renee’s white Persian, Tortishel, and Siamese respectively, waited in a line at the oven, watching the porkchops. “Do you have any leads?”

“No, no but I’ll find some.”

He frowned. “I don’t know, Renee…” He glanced at her nails and she subconsciously rolled her fingers up. “They’re getting bad again?”

She nodded.

“Do I…want to look under your bed?”

She shook her head. He sighed. She curled her hands tighter, face red hot. She’d been like this for four days and she was terrified it took him that long to notice, at the same time she’d rather him had never figured it out. But it was Elliot. He’d seen it more than once. “I…need to go look. I need to find something. The files said there’s more than one facility and that’s what I’ve got to go off of. I’m starting in Solace City, so I won’t be far.”

He paused to pull out dinner, setting the tray on the oven and staring at it. “Get clean first.”

“But if I don’t-“

“I’ll give you some sleeping pills. I’ll find stuff for you to do so you can’t think too much. Safer than you being in the city when you’re like this. Deal?” He looked over at her and she felt a pang of guilt; the droop of his shoulders, the tiredness in his half-lidded eyes, he looked like a father trying his best with his fuckup kid. Except it was his fuckup friend instead.

“Deal,” she said quietly.

Just then Evelyn came in from the garden and Elliot flipped a switch, appearing bright and sparkling. It was just a little too much Mirage for her taste. “Hey Ma! Hope you’re hungry, I made pork chops.”

* * *

He’d told them he might not be able to make it their first night back, least not till late, and they’d said it was fine-that they would be tired of course, that they wouldn’t mind, that they understood, and in every word he could hear the disappointment. But damn he had to do it to them. So at 9 in the evening he took the elevator up to their floor at the tower and knocked on the door. He hardly waited a moment before the door flung open.

There they were; a tired flush coloring their face, hair dyed back to a whitish blonde wisping around their cheeks and chin and falling over heavy-lidded eyes that widened upon seeming to realize this was flesh-and-blood Elliot standing at their door. He leaned in and kissed them; they responded quickly, curling their fingers around his collar to keep him there when they parted with a happy gasp. “I missed you,” they breathed, “you lying bastard!”

“Surprises are fun, aren’t they?,” he mumbled, pulling back, hands on their cheeks, beaming “but I missed you too you goddamn vanishing act.” They laughed and then he was pulled into them-into their home, and brought into a fervent kiss where they, quite pointedly, bit down on his lip, very nearly drawing blood before he pulled back again, keeping them away with his hands on their hot cheeks, chuckling at the slightest of whines.

“_Andskotinn_,” they hissed, pushing to kiss him, pulling at his shirt but Elliot wouldn’t let them get close. He gently traced over their eyebrows with his thumbs, loving the blonde, loving the soft skin, loving the little scar on their nose. But Bloth was in a _mood_ and he soon found himself up against the wall, their body flush with his, and their hands tangled in his hair-he suspected as a method to stop him from restraining them again. He was almost peeved; _I’m trying to be sweet, you horny bastard_, he thought before they began pressing soft kisses to his jawline, one hand sliding from his hair down his front, and he realized he, also, was a horny bastard. Seeming to sense his epiphany, they tapped the door closed with their foot and pulled him in for proper kisses, walking backward somewhere, Elliot wasn’t paying attention until he found himself on a bed-their bed, firmer than his, a soft quilt at his back (when did he lose his shirt?). Much as it was comfortable, he had other plans. He reached up, hands on their sides, and flipped them around.

They were surprised, to say the least. Leaning over them, hands on either side of their head, casting a shadow over moonlit skin, he felt a certain sense of satisfaction. He leaned in close, hands going to their arms, sliding up, gently pinning their wrists above their head. “You said you’d thank me properly when you got back,” he whispered against their ear.

“Did I?” They replied, almost without a hitch in their throat.

He didn’t speak. He just started kissing, pressing his lips down their throat, to their collarbone and down to their first tattoo, listening to the soft whine as he left it all agonizingly unmarked. He had missed them so badly it hurt, and now to have them again, warm and real and gazing at him with those intense blue eyes, it made him realize something he chose to swallow for the time, to keep for another day; in the meantime, he was going to show them just how much he had missed them.

* * *

He shivered as he woke. Moonlight hit the floor in stark white streaks from a small, high window above the wall the bed was against. The quilt was warm and heavy, he followed the stitches with his thumb as he blinked away the bleariness. The walls on either end of the bed were covered entirely in eight-foot-tall bookshelves that bowed under the weight of books and what appeared to be scrolls. A closet was on the far wall, the door beside it, and there was a small bedside table with a lamp. Otherwise there was nothing in the room, including the owner of it. He waited, thinking they might be going to the bathroom or something, but they were gone too long for him.

His curiosity won over his fear of the chill and he got up. The cold hit his nether regions like a brick and, shivering, he realized his clothes were nowhere to be found. He hurried to the closet and opened it, stepping aside so what little moonlight reached there could highlight the shapes within. He grabbed a warm looking sweater off a hanger, then a pair of somewhat short sweatpants. Thankfully for him, Bloodhound had almost everything in at least one size too big. He glanced in the closet, noting to himself that there was actually a surprising variety of clothes before stepping into the dark hall and following the moonlight to the living room.

He’d not taken the time to notice before, but Bloodhound’s apartment was almost like a jungle. There were plants everywhere, healthy, leafy green ones that spilled out of their pots, curled around themselves or jumped upward to the sky, or fanned out, prideful of their pretty green leaves and sometimes showing off little flowers. Perches were hidden between the little pieces of jungle, a couple standing freely, random raven toys tied or scattered.

He stepped in further, glancing at the single couch, pointing towards an illegally huge television. There was a desk against the far wall, which seemed to have some kind of mural on it, he couldn’t tell in the dark-but then there was a flicker in his peripheral, and he looked toward the corner from the television. Bloodhound was kneeling in front of some sort of cabinet opened lengthwise with a figure inside. They were lighting candles, Arthur perched on the top of the cabinet. Flick, a lighter would flame, then they would tilt the wick into it, watch it alight, then place it alongside the others on a tray that came from the cabinet, eventually forming a half circle. It was like some sort of dance, a symphony of methodical, dedicated movement, a kind of precision only gained with decades of practice. They set the lighter on the floor beside them. “Did my absence wake you?”

He jumped, not expecting them to speak. “No,” he said quietly.

“Mm.” They never turned from the figure. Arthur looked at him, but his gaze felt a lot less beady and judgmental than usual. “Perhaps Allfather has called you as well.”

“Uh, really?”

“Yes.” The half turned, the nine braids that _had _made one big braid now loose around their shoulders.

“…Can I come over? I mean s-see what you’re, l-like if you want-need to be alone I-“

They quickly waved him over, watching as he came to kneel with them at their right. The figure was the Allfather, or Odin, or Grimnir or any of 600 other names Bloodhound said he had. Elliot always thought of Odin as a long haired, big ass muscled dude with shining armor and one of those hats with wings on it. But the carving was of a tall old man in a long robe with a wide brimmed hat. He leaned on a sphere like it was a walking stick, and on either shoulder were his ravens. Huginn and Muninn, if he remembered right. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. I made it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“I learned things sitting in the woods with nothing to do.” They shrugged smoothly, pausing a moment. “It was a way of showing dedication when I did not have space for this,” they gestured at the altar, “I light the candles and pray each morning at four. I leave offerings, if I have them. Then I go back to sleep and let the candles burn until I wake up again.”

He looked at the altar, at the little sprig of juniper berries and apple at the Allfather’s feet. “What…what else do you do? I…never asked before you left.”

They eyed him a moment, inhaling deeply. “I honor the Allfather in all ways possible. I slatra for the Allfather in battle, in my words, in my actions. I copy scripture, though I do not like calling it a Bible, each night, for about an hour. Or I will translate the old scrolls.”

“I saw those on the shelves.”

“They are the original tales of the Gods. Before my land was Christianized. My village preserved them.” They laughed a little. “It is ironic that a people who follow a god of knowledge, he who gave his eye for a drink from _Mimisbrunnr_, whose ravens soar Midgard for all learning of the world, who hung from Yggdrasil for nine days and nights with Gungnir in his side to learn the runes, remain so stalwart to the old ways. We do not reject new knowledge, but it is not sought, either.” They stopped, regarding the altar, then bowed their head, breathing. “Sorry, I trailed off.”

“Don’t apologize, I love to hear everything.” They glanced at him, like they really did not know what to say, then looked at the altar, like they hoped the Allfather would tell them. Elliot bit his lip and scooted closer. “Can I pray with you?”

Their eyes sparked with surprise, moonlight highlighting their face starkly. “Y-you want to pray with me?”

“Sure. If I can.” He smiled a little. “Not saying I’m going to start waking up at four in the morning to do it, and maybe I don’t quite understand it, but I’d like to, and this is as good a start as any, isn’t it?”

They gaped in stunned silence, long enough Elliot was worried he’d said something taboo, before they kissed his cheek and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “That,” their voice cracked, “that is, that…y-yes. Yes, you can pray with me.”

* * *

“Do I-does staying over here prevent you from like, praying?” Elliot looked over while flipping a pancake. Bloodhound was shooing Arthur from their coffee but stopped at the mention of prayer.

“It, it doesn’t, exactly. But I do not keep my usual habits,” they admitted this with some reluctance.

“Well, can you set up an altar here? Would that help?” There was that dumb-struck look again. He kind of loved it. Though it made him sad at the same time, knowing they never expected him to care, much less try and help them. “In whatever way would work for you, y’know. Nobody will notice a new cabinet.”

They swallowed, nudging a now caffeinated raven from their coffee and placing a hand over it. “If you’re alright with it.”

“’Course. Just don’t get candle wax on my carpet, please.”

They smiled with an amused puff of air out of their nose. “I won’t.”

It was a couple days, but Elliot woke up to a small cabinet, about half the size of the one they had at home, sitting underneath a table. It was smooth polished ash wood and had a smaller figure of Odin, with birds on either side at his feet, and then two wolves with lips drawn back in snarls that almost looked like grins. They were also carved from ash. He thought they were beautiful, and terrifying. He swore he could feel the wolves eyeing him on the occasions he did end up praying with Bloth.

* * *

They were straddling his waist on their couch in the late afternoon, tracing their fingertips over the new scars, running from collarbone to rib, stomach to pelvis, smaller ones that would have healed if he’d gotten there in time peppered over his torso. Three jagged tears from armpit to hip that they feathered their fingers over. “I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“I told you I fell into the canyon, moonshine.” He said quietly. He hadn’t gotten used to the scars yet, but the reverence from Bloodhound made him feel a little more normal.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Oh, pet.” They frowned, tweaking his chin in a teasing way. “I will always worry about you. Whether you like it or not.”

He laughed some. “And I’ll worry about you, Bloth. I bet I have more reason to worry, too, because your hobbies include chucking knives at titan sized beasties.”

The chuckled. “Oh, not all of them.”

He glanced at the television, hands sliding up their thighs to rest on their hips where he played with the band of their pajama shorts. “Big movie watcher?”

They winced. “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean not exactly?”

In response they got off of him, which he wasn’t happy about, and went to the TV cabinet. They looked at him, then at the cabinet, then back at him, then opened the cabinet door and covered their face. Elliot saw stacks of DVDs and slowly sat up, squinting while Bloodhound peeked through the spaces of their fingers at him. He slowly cocked his head to the side. “Is that all…anime?”

“Mhm.” They nodded quickly, covering their eyes before peeking out at him again.

His first response was to laugh. They covered their eyes again. “N-No, babe I’m not, I’m not laughing at you,” he laughed again, louder this time, “I’m laughing because you have it all on fucking DVD.”

They peeked at him again. “I have Netflix…and Crunchyroll.”

“But you don’t even have a social security number?”

“It’s in Anita’s name.”

“It’s her Netflix, isn’t it.”

“Mhm.”

He laughed again, walking over to them and gently pulling their hands from their face and kissing their forehead. They relaxed, flopping their head against his chest. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. Lotta people like anime.”

“You haven’t looked at my bookshelves, have you?”

“What?” His phone rang, the sound of icicles dropping-Renee. He picked it up, hand slipping down to Bloodhound’s waist naturally. “Hey, what’s up?”

“You were right about getting clean. Shit down here is crazy.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But I can’t find a hotel or anything, I mean people don’t _immediately_ recognize me, but soon as I speak, woosh.” She sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t call to complain. I did get a bit of a lead. Somebody down here used to work for IMC and said there was three other facilities like the one I was in. But that’s all I have. I can’t find anything else.”

“Shit…” He glanced at Bloodhound, briefly muting the call. “What?”

“Is that Wraith?”

“Renee.”

“Renee.”

“Yeah.”

“Put her on speaker.”

He blinked. “Uh, Renee, Bloodhound is having me put you on speaker.”

“What?” Elliot put her on speaker. “Hello?”

“Hallo,” Bloth said, smiling a bit at the shocked gasp.

“Oh wow.” She laughed nervously. “Uh, hi. Sorry, didn’t expect this.”

“That goes for the both of us.” He saw them swallow hard and pause before speaking. “What you need is a voice modulator. A good one is expensive, but worth it, and I recommend a balaclava. It’s not uncommon in most…seedier areas. And you said you had a lead?”

“Just that there were three other facilities like mine.”

They nodded. “That’s all you need. An old contact of mine had to relocate to Solace City recently. His name is Crypto.”

* * *

_Who willingly calls themselves Crypto? _She turned a corner into Koreatown, which was just one long street of signs in a language she couldn’t read and food that smelled fucking irresistible. Bloodhound had laughed when telling her he was there-where, exactly, they weren’t sure, but they knew for certain he was behind a noodle shop because the dude practically lived off of japchae, whatever that was. She squinted at the signs as she passed them, huge and bright Hangeul making her eyes hurt. _Here_.

She stopped, looking around. _Here, here, here. Take a picture. _A picture? Renee questioned the voices a moment as she took out her phone and snapped a picture of a line of street stands, shooting in the dark. She turned around and took a picture of the restaurant behind her and crossed the street, where she got a _feeling._ She turned, looking at a small, unassuming shop. None of the words were in English, but there was a fold out sign with pictures of noodles sitting by the door. She took a picture of that.

She flipped through them all and found nothing until, as she thought, the last one. A glowing green symbol sat in the corner of the sign, looking like a man’s cloaked face. _This must be it_. She walked in; it smelled of starch and old seat leather mixed with some kind of spice that made her nose tickle. It only had two tables and a counter, the woman standing at it looked at her. “Have you seen my boyfriend? He stole my dog,” she said, feeling very strange.

“What kind of dog?” The woman said.

“A hound with one eye.”

The woman nodded, waving her back. Renee followed into a small kitchen, feeling everyone’s eyes on her, thankful she went ahead and grabbed the balaclava, making it to a back room full of dusty files. Then the woman left her. _The shelf. _It was a small corner shelf with a snowglobe on it, and when she pulled it down a partition in the peeling wallpaper appeared. She opened it to a narrow hall with a metal floor and knocked on the door at the end. A camera buzzed to life at the corner of the frame. “You’re not Jaime,” a staticy, accented voice said.

“I’m a friend.” She looked right at the camera. “They said you could help me.”

There was a pause, then the seal on the door popped. Inside was one large room plated in metal from floor to ceiling. A bed in some dark corner, most of the light, green tinted, coming from an array of seven screens; four on the bottom, one large one in the middle with two long ones on either side of it. The chair turned around, revealing an Asian man with what she could only think of as a BTS haircut-was it an undercut? She remembered Elliot rambling about his _disconnected undercut_ and how there was like, forty different variations or something. She thought girls hair was freakin’ complicated.

“Who the hell are you?”

Now she noticed the more prominent cybernetic enhancements, moving as he spoke. They looked kinda rad, but it was terrifying at the same time. From what she knew, those enhancements hurt physically as much as they hurt the wallet. She pulled down the balaclava and saw his eyes widen. “Guess I don’t need an introduction, huh?”

He gave her a hard stare and stood being about holy shit and a half inches tall. “How the hell would you make friends with them?”

_He doesn’t know._ It was sort of startling how well Bloodhound could lead a double life. “We met at a concert.”

“You did.” He said, with a big ol’ dollop of suspicion. “What do you want?”

“I need to find the other Wraith facilities. I know there’s three in existence. But that’s all I know.”

“I don’t work cheap.”

“I don’t pay low.” She replied.

He looked her up and down. “_Naoda_, Yon.” Suddenly a little drone popped out from behind one of the screens and flitted over, beeping, immediately scanning Renee and then making a noise she could only describe as a squeal before flitting around her head, almost bouncing.

Renee grinned. “Hello!”

The little drone trilled, Crypto sighed. “Yon, stop-bring up the scan.” But Yon kept flitting around Renee’s head. “_Yon_,” he said sternly, and with a sad beep the little drone projected a screen between them, a green grid with Renee’s holoprofile on one side, a blank slate on the other. It was disturbing the amount of information she saw flashing across the screen-all her social media, every picture she’d ever posted, every comment, every voice clip, interview-it made her shiver. “Twenty-five thousand credits, up front.”

She choked. “Twenty five _thousand?_”

“This is old IMC. They may be dead far as the mainstream is concerned, but projects like this don’t go easy.” He flicked his wrist, a contract popping out of the green screen and projecting itself in front of her. “These are my terms.”

She blinked and scrolled through, frowning toward the end. “All the info I gather, huh?”

“All of it. I find out you held something back, we’ll have problems.”

Her lip twitched, but she did sign it. She didn’t have much to lose, really. Besides, getting this Crypto guy on her side felt like a good idea. Yon hummed and virtual representation of coins arched straight from the projection to some kind of enhancement right in Crypto’s head. Once the transaction was completed Yon beeped and began to circle Renee’s head again. She smiled. “Aw, I think she likes me.”

He looked like he wanted to throw himself off a bridge. “You’re her favorite Legend.”

Renee blinked, a hand to her chest. “Me?”

“An unfortunate side effect of her personality AI.” He rolled his eyes, but it was too much. He was _trying_ to be aloof, trying to not care, and it was so obvious. Renee could be that way herself, but she had a soft spot for her cats. Seemed the hacker had a soft spot for the drone. “I’ll start looking into the facilities. I’ll contact you.”

She nodded, having sort of lost herself in watching Yon, snapping her fingers suddenly enough to startle the drone and the man. “I almost forgot! B-Jaime said I need to get a voice modulator and contacts. So I’m not recognized so easily. Do you, uh, know where I can get those?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I sell them. But they are even more than what you just paid me.”

“How much?”

“Fifty-thousand credits for the contacts, seventy-five thousand for the modulator. Or a hundred-thousand for the better one.”

Renee hesitated. She had the money, yeah, but the numbers still scared her. Especially being out of work till God knew when. If push came to shove, she reasoned, she could probably work at Elliott’s bar. Fuck it. “Alright. Jaime said I should go for the best I can get on the modulator.”

Yon put up the screen again and another contract appeared in front of her face. Crypto gestured and shoved his hand back in his pocket. She could feel him watching her carefully as she read through the second contract, but the voices were only a dull hum so she ignored him, signed and watched a chunk of her life savings flit to his head. “_Gamsahamnida_.” He paused. “You actually read the contract.”

She blinked. “Well yeah I read it, I’m not an idiot.”

He nodded, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “No, you’re not.” He pulled a rolling stool out from under his desk and set it across from his chair, gesturing for Renee to sit, which she did, and then retrieved two small black boxes from some dark corner. He sat in his chair and a table extended out from his desk, between him and Renee, where he set the boxes. He opened the first one with four thin, black disks set in Styrofoam. “This is the voice modulator. It’s the best on any market; stick two disks on the inside of each cheek. It’ll blend in to your skin, though it will feel weird on your tongue.”

She nodded and went ahead and, staring at the table as she did so, stuck the disks in her mouth. They did feel funny on her tongue, kind of tacky. They sort of reminded her of the cloaking device Elliot made, it was still in her pocket. “Alright, now these,” he opened the other box with two standard contacts on a piece of paper, “these will change your eye to any color imaginable, but it does have standard settings. _But_, these ones also control the modulator. They’re, ah, a bit like an optical implant.”

“That’s what you have, isn’t it?”

“Sharp eyes.” He pulled a mirror out of thin air, seemingly, and set it up on the table. “These are limited to controlling the modulator and the color they present, and some minor message and video playback via the underground holonetwork.”

“How long do they last?” Renee had never put a contact in before, but soon as she got one of the ones in the box close to her eye it sort of jumped and attached itself to the surface. She yelped and blinked rapidly as a green grid appeared and disappeared.

Crypto snorted. “Don’t be too eager. It scans your eye to make things look natural as possible. But they last about three years, the modulator about one. You don’t have to take either out.”

She hummed in interest, prepared this time when the other contact jumped on to her eye. She rubbed at the corners as they teared up around the intrusions. “That’s amazing. I’m surprised more people don’t, you know, do this.”

“Well, it’s extraordinarily illegal. Unless someone is transitioning, but those are normally locked at a certain voice and surgically attached to the vocal cords.” He smirked. “And most people don’t have almost two-hundred thousand credits to throw on it.”

“Fair,” she grinned a little. Renee didn’t know if she had any prior experience to working with underground hackers, but she felt incredibly comfortable talking to Crypto and some part of her, voice or not she wasn’t sure, whispered that he might like it too, that it might get lonely in the dark little bunker lit only by screen light. With her new bank-breakers on Crypto ran her through operation, having her look in the mirror while directing her how to open up the menu by looking at her nose-it was almost like crossing her eyes, but it was easily taken as a glance down. From there it gave her the options to change eye color, with set natural colors or a color wheel she selected just by looking where she needed to go, and similarly with the modulator-she settled on a voice higher than her own with a soft, unassuming edge and light green eyes. It was very, very strange to hear coming out of her mouth.

Lastly Crypto showed her how to use the message system. “Everything through the _underground_ holonetwork is secure. It can only be accessed by certain devices or good hackers. You likely won’t have much use for it, but this is how I will contact you now.” At that moment, an invite popped up in the form of the same image she’d seen on the sign outside the shop with a button for Yes or No. She looked at the Yes and accepted. Now she had a contacts list, next to a search and the ability to browse Utube, which was apparently all the same content but on the underground holonetwork. “When I find what you need, I’ll message you through here. When you need to transfer information to me, however, you will need to come to me physically. The contacts don’t record or anything like that.”

“How much is it for something like that?”

“You have to get an implant. It’s about four times what you spent today and painful.”

Renee choked. “I’m cool with the contacts.”

He snorted. “Most people are. But you know how to use the contact and the modulator, and I have what I need to find what you want.” He stood, tapping the extended table so it slowly slid back into place. “I’d consider dying my hair if I were you. At least before actually approaching a facility. I’ll contact you in a few days. If you find out anything else you can message me through the contact. Understood?”

Renee nodded, standing. They walked together to the door. “Thank you, Crypto.”

“Mm.” He opened the door and she was able to walk out with barely ducking under his arm. “Thank you for not being an idiot.”

* * *

Bloodhound and Elliot spent a little over a week between their apartments. Elliot really didn’t like how off the edge the Tower was, but Bloodhound had some stuff they wanted to get out of their apartment in case it did decide to careen off the edge and it took a bit to move it to whatever cache they had hidden the next planet over. It was nice to just have it be them, though. Elliot finally felt like they were beginning to trust him, let him really inch his way into their space and being, and Bloodhound was beginning to revel in the warmth of security in knowing Elliot was _theirs_, in a way. They had to remind themself that they were a couple, they were dating. Elliot was their boyfriend. It was comforting. It was good. Practically bliss. And when Elliot brought up meeting his mother, staying with her, because they sure as hell didn’t want to stay in the building longer than necessary, Bloodhound had warmed up to the idea surprisingly easily (namely when Elliot mentioned his room was in the back corner, furthest from his mother’s).

So this made it all the more a surprise for Elliot when, on the day they were supposed to leave for his mother’s place, he found them on the couch looking at a picture of him and his nieces and nephews, back when they were little. He was about to say something, like take the opportunity to point whos-who, but soon as Bloodhound saw him they burst into tears.

He froze. _What the fuck???_ Bloth put down the picture and put their face in their hands just, just crying. Just fucking crying. _This isn’t real, right? That’s illegal, right??? WHY ARE THEY CRYING, WHAT DID I DOOOOO? WHAT DIDN’T I DO? FUCK??????? FUCK DO SOMETHING_. He sat across from them on the coffee table. “Hey, you, uh, whats up?” _That’s stupid. You’re stupid. _He breathed deeply and handed them a tissue as they started hiccupping. They wiped their eyes, glancing at him, more gathering and falling down their cheeks, lip trembling. He gently wiped away the tears on one side and they stilled, taking in a choked little breath. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

They swallowed a sob, hiccupping again, blinking away tears and dabbing at their eyes. “I-I,” they hiccuped again and cursed, sniffling, “I-I’m so sorry-“

“Sorry? F-for what-“

“I-I’m an idiot, I can’t, how could I not,” a sob came out again and they ducked their head, “I don’t even know if you, what kind of person am I-I, G-Gods I’m s-s-so s-s-stu-stupid!”

“Stupid? Hold on, Bloth what are you talking about? Babe? Baby?” He gently pulled their head up, frowning. He hated this right now, hated to see them like this at all, but he also hated the idea they were hiding something from him _again_. Though with the tears and how guilty they looked he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to be mad at them. “Bloth, what’s going on? Come on hon, deep breaths.”

They opened their mouth, jaw faltering, trying to say something but only managing little inhales. They breathed in deeply through their nose, swallowed, mumbled and took the tissues he offered them, blowing their nose. “I-I,” they gulped, “I d-didn’t tell you so-something. S-Something v-very important.” They sniffed. “Gods. Why am I like this?”

_Is this what Bangalore was talking about?_ He tucked a piece of hair behind their ear. “What, what is it?”

They looked at him a long second and said, seemingly to themself, “I’m a piece of shit.”

“Whoa there, Bloth.” He took both their hands, “it can’t be that bad.”

They whimpered. “Just p-please don’t yell.”

“I promise.”

They were gripping his hands so tight he thought they might go numb. They took three big, rattling breaths and looked up at him, face red and tear-stained, hair falling in their eyes that wavered behind tears; the ferocious hunter that seemed to stand with the mountains had crumbled and with what they had left whispered softly, “I have a son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao
> 
> Crypto:  
These are rough because I didn't save the non-romantisized versions of the words, but most of what Crypto says is drawn not from Google Translate but from Korean101 language classes online. If anyone speaks/writes Korean/Hangul and wants to just...fix my everything you're welcome to.  
baegopeun saekkideul iig- Basically calling them greedy bastards  
Mullon-iya- Sure thing  
Naoda - come here  
Gamsahamnida - Thank you, basically.


	15. Foiled Catastrophes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly void, partially watermelon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't speak anything but English. Spanish, Icelandic and Korean used in this fic is based on more credible sources when possible, but when necessary Google Translate is utilized. 
> 
> Sorry, this took longer. I kept writing and ended up with like 7.5k chapter that I was like...yo...I can just...publish this part...jfc 
> 
> anyway enjoy I neglected my education for this

Cue record scratch. “What?”

The floodgates had opened again, though they started blubbering through it and gesturing wildly with their hands. “I-I have a son, his name is Mag-mag- h-he’s almost t-t-and I love him s-s-so much and I d-don’t know why I didn’t-I mean I didn’t know you so well I guess and I was terrified-if anyone found out they could-and I promised Katla b-b-but I didn’t and I’m so _soooooorrryyyy_,” the last came out as a whine and their hands became limp in his.

He said the first thing that came to mind, the stupid part of his mind, not the smart one, the smart one was still processing. “So you’re saying Bloodhound has a puppy.”

They half-choked, half-hiccuped and gave him a look like they might kill him.

“S-sorry-I, babe I just…” Now he felt them pull their hands away from his but he gripped them tightly, brought them together and kissed their knuckles. Their eyes widened. “Hey, don’t think you’re getting away that easily.” He swiped away a tear, gathering himself. Something he wouldn’t have been able to do so well, he thought, if he hadn’t had a good example to follow. “I’m not mad.”

They sniffed. Their voice an off-key trill. “You’re not?”

“No, no of course not this…is a big deal. I, I get why you were, you know, hesitant.” He chuckled nervously. “Though I, uh, I’m a little confused why you started, uh, crying.”

They were quiet a moment. “I thought you might leave me.”

“_What?!_”

They jumped a little. Elliot grabbed the box of tissues and just plopped it between their legs and they quickly gathered a bundle, holding them to their face a moment. “I-I didn’t think you w-would, I mean, children are a…dealbreaker. W-which is perfectly understandable, a-and you didn’t, don’t seem…”

Elliot stared in disbelief. “You thought I didn’t like kids?”

They nodded with a shaky smile. “I-I have enough b-baggage as it i-is.”

“What? Bloth, I _love _kids.” They looked disbelieving and he placed his hands firmly on their shoulders. “I do! I’ve always, I, I haven’t really told anyone, but I’ve always wanted kids. I think they’re great.” They looked like they might cry again. Elliot really hoped they didn’t, because then he would, and if he started crying they would be there for the rest of forever. He took a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to their forehead. “It was a surprise, for sure, y’know little thrown and all that, but you have a son and I’m totally ready to, to be a part of or, or work with you on that.”

Bloodhound stared, in absolute awe of the man before them.

They fell into him, burying their face into his shirt, and Elliot pet their head, letting them sniff and swallow away the rest of their tears. He felt strangely at peace. The shock had come, had taken him and then had left, and all remaining was the fact: Bloodhound had a son, and Elliot was cool with it. He pulled them in closer until they were in his lap, rubbing their arm. “So,” he said softly into their hair, “what did you say his name was?”

They chuckled, laying their head on his shoulder. “M-Magnus. He’ll be ten in later Sólmánuðr.”

“July, right?”

They smiled. “July, yes.”

“Do you have a picture?”

They pulled away and pulled out their wallet, which Elliot had seen a couple times before, but all that was in there was a picture of Arthur as a chick. But from behind that picture Bloodhound brought out another and handed it to him. It was Magnus, who was a baby faced, mousey blond-haired kid bundled in a reindeer coat that went down to the ankle and beaming with the biggest front-tooth-missing grin possible, holding a fat black kitten in his arms. His hair was a tousle of curls and his eyes were the same intense blue as Bloth’s. “Awww, he’s cute! And the kitten is _so fat._”

They smiled. “That was last Yule. He’s always wanted a kitten. He named him Ailuros, apparently it’s the Greek God of cats.” They laughed a little. “Bjørn wasn’t too happy about that.”

“Bah-who?”

They paused a long moment, lips pulling into a thin line and sighing. “Bjørn. My ex.”

“Oooooh.” Yep, he wasn’t going to even ask on that one. “Why, uh, why didn’t he like the cat’s name?”

They smiled, tucking the picture away. “It is a Greek god, not a Norse one.”

“Ah.”

“They’re a bit traditional.” They breathed deeply and stood, Elliot following them to the bathroom as they talked, trying to make themself look like they hadn’t been crying.

“Huh…hey, what does he call you? I mean like, I’m guessing it’s not mom and dad.”

“I am Mabbie,” they splashed their face and dried it. “And Bjørn is Pamma. Like with everything else, who uses which is just up to the couple. It’s as unquestioned as Mamma and Pabbie.”

“Sweet.”

“Sweet it is,” they laughed, turning around and kissing him once, twice, then on the cheek before enveloping him in a hug, face to his shoulder. “Gods, I am thankful for you, Elliot.”

He held them close, pressing his face into their neck, breathing in the soft scent of gunpowder and earth and just a little perfume he realized they’d totally stolen from his cabinet. What he wanted to say danced on the tip of his tongue, but he pressed it against the back of his teeth and gripped their shirt. “I’m thankful for _you_, Bloth.”

They smiled, he could feel it against his shoulder, and the two stayed and held each other a moment until Arthur, who had been quite forgotten, squawked irritably from his cage. Bloodhound laughed, pulling back. “Alright, alright. I think we should get to the car before he knocks himself over.”

Elliot smirked at the raven, who squawked shrilly. “Yeah, let's go.”

* * *

She woke up in the middle of the night-1:32am, in fact, as shown by her optical display. It had taken some getting used to, but now she could navigate it well enough to text and watch videos, and had found the little additional features, like the time, and even the weather forecast. But what she hadn’t gotten used to was the vibrating when she got a message. It wasn’t like her eyes vibrated, it was a buzz in her head, but it still felt weird. Half-awake she navigated to the contacts and opened up Crypto’s message.

Crypto: _One facility located, so far. Likely abandoned. Don’t be an idiot. _

She rolled her eyes and opened the attachment. It was a map of the area surrounding Solace City, a pinprick up in the mountains. She wanted to turn over and sleep more, but if there was ever a time to go, it would be now. She got up and started dressing, typing back as she did so.

_Me: Thanks. Do you ever sleep?_

It was a shot in the dark-an Elliot-esq attempt at camaraderie. She was surprised when she got a reply.

_Crypto: Only when I’m dead._

She snorted, pulling the balaclava over her nose and her hood over her head. She looked at herself in the mirror, watching her eyes be consumed by the milky white and then opened a portal behind her, walking back into it.

It was all black glass, sound consumed by something not understood, gulped down like water. Each step was the definition of silence, the shift of fabric, the exhale of breath could barely be felt in the lungs. Even deaf people hear ringing in their ears; in the void, Renee didn’t hear anything, didn’t feel anything. Physically she became her name: Wraith.

She was Wraith, some part of her. The part here, walking on the glass, forward, where she wanted to go. There was nothing but glass glinting with innominate light, but Wraith knew where to turn, and where to stop and hold out her hand, slice an oval in the glass and watch it shatter, edged in violet. She stepped out to the top of a mountain, breath clouding in the desert night. The void left her eyes, and within a moment she was Renee again. And Renee had business to take care of.

* * *

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Bloodhound turned their focus from the rolling hills to Elliot, who was relaxed in his seat, driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on their thigh. “I’d like to learn how to speak your language. I don’t even know what you call it.”

“Old Norse, technically,” they said, speaking through the second bout of shock for the day. Their throat was still raw from earlier. They rested their hand on his relishing the warmth, the softness. “But it’s also some modern Icelandic. We call it Odin’s Tongue. It’s…a dialect, I think.”

He glanced over, smiling, beautifully. “Hey, statement stands. I wanna learn. Hell, I could teach you Spanish, like a language exchange or something.”

“You speak Spanish?”

“_Si bastante bien._” He smiled a little. “It wasn’t my first language, but it was close.”

“I never hear you speak it.”

“You haven’t seen me stub my toe.” He said this jokingly. They swallowed, relaxing in their seat as they turned the long bend before Solace City, looking no less massive but certainly less magical in the daylight, a menagerie of questionable modern architecture intermingled with skyscrapers and Victorian or Edwardian influences scattered throughout. They did not turn into the city, taking a right along another bend, heading towards what looked like a suburb.

“I’d love to teach you. I’ll do my best with yours.”

He grinned, raising up his hand. “High five.”

They high fived, chuckling softly around the nerves that heightened the closer the suburb came into view. Bursting into hysterics hadn’t been their plan, but they couldn’t have imagined a better outcome. He wasn’t just okay with it, but he was _excited_. Excited about Magnus, excited about the prospect of visiting the village, excited, even, to hear about the Allfather, to not only hear the stories but watch and participate in the practices of their faith, even if he didn’t really believe or understand it.

_Stop thinking about it or you’ll cry again._ They rubbed at their eye, hoping he didn’t notice. Everything had gone so well they had become dead terrified of meeting his mother because _something _had to go wrong, didn’t it?. They’d already been unnerved; there had never been any _meeting the parents_ for Bloodhound before. Bjørn’s parents were dead, but that was beside the point since they’d grown up in a village of 300 people. It wasn’t a matter of meeting the parents insomuch it was a matter of being approved, and that wasn’t so much an issue because it was usually quite apparent who one’s parents would approve of beforehand.

But Bloodhound was going in blind here. They knew Evelyn Witt was one of the smartest engineers in the entire Frontier, if not the Core System as well, and they knew Elliot loved her fiercely, as she did him. So, if she didn’t like Bloodhound?

Well, they weren’t quite sure what they’d do.

The house was two-storied and buttermilk yellow, with blooming flowerboxes underneath the windows and a garden so hysterically healthy they could see the tomato plants tower over the six-foot fence encompassing the backyard. They hesitated to get out of the car and knew Elliot could tell when he took their hand and squeezed it while pulling them inside. “Hey, Ma!”

“Outside, _peque_.”

He rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, pulling Bloodhound to the side gate and pulling it open. The hunter was stunned by the garden once they stood next to it. Corn and tomatoes double the height of themself, swaying gently in the breeze, beds of lettuce and carrots, radish and green beans and a dozen other things, some they didn’t recognize, fruit trees flanking the far fence and a clearing with children’s toys and some kind of little playground beyond that in the back. “Maaaaaa?”

This time a woman answered the call; darker-skinned than Elliot and just as gorgeous, dressed in overalls and a ridiculously floppy sunhat. She smiled at Elliot, but when she saw Bloodhound her eyes lit up. “Oh, you!”

“Me,” they said, a little weakly before being suddenly hug attacked. They didn’t know what to do but return it; she smelled of dirt and vanilla and just a bit of mechanics grease, and when she hugged it was warm and without any hesitation. It was comforting. _A mother's hug, _they thought to themself briefly, putting on a smile when she pulled away.

“Oh, I’m _so_ happy to meet you!” She beamed, the smile a mirror of Elliot’s, eyes crinkling. “Elliot never stops talking about you!”

“He doesn’t, does he?” They glanced at him.

“Maaaa,” Elliot muttered.

Bloodhound prodded him lightly. “Looking a little hot under the collar, Elly.” That just made him blush harder. They had no idea what compelled them to call him Elly of all things, but they found they liked it. “He has told me a lot about you Mrs. Witt.”

“Mostly my cooking, if I were to guess.” She smiled. “And Evelyn, please.”

Bloodhound inclined their head, glancing around. Their heart was beating like a drum but nothing had gone wrong so far. “You do all of this yourself?”

She laughed. “Oh, I do. I love to garden, I mean if that wasn’t obvious. Best one on the block, and don’t let anyone tell you differently. Well, they won’t, because it’s true.” She said this very matter of factly. _You certainly are your sons’ mother. _“My watermelons are the best, I think. You like watermelon?”

“I’ve never had it,” Bloodhound half shrugged, the two Witt’s gasping.

“Never had watermelon?!” Elliot looked utterly baffled.

“Ah…no.” They watched Evelyn walk to some great big green round things and cut the vine with garden shears.

“Honey what the _fuck_,” Elliot said.

“Elliot Witt!” Evelyn’s voice came sharply, and Bloodhound couldn’t help but laugh when he winced.

“Sorry, Mom.”

“You can come carry the watermelon.”

“Yes’m.” He shot Bloodhound a good-natured smile, hefting the watermelon into his arms and walking in through a back door that went directly to the kitchen, warm and bright and yellow and white like the outside of the house.

“Why is it called a watermelon if it is green?” Bloodhound wondered aloud.

“It’s very…watery.” Evelyn had discarded her gardening gloves and now brandished an impressively huge knife. She started cutting into the watermelon, right on the table-which, judging by the marks all over it, was used to the treatment. The inside was bright red and, well, it looked wet. She cut it into slices with heavy _thwaks_, red juice spilling over the table. Bloodhound glanced at Elliot, who just shrugged. Evelyn soon handed them a dripping chunk, along with a napkin. “Nothing better than fresh watermelon, honey.”

They cocked their head at the fruit, then shrugged and took a bite. It was unlike anything they had ever had before; it was sweet, unbelievably juicy. It was…crunchy? They must have made a face because both Elliot and Evelyn laughed.

“You gotta spit out the seeds, babe,” Elliot said, grabbing a slice.

“Oh,” they said around their mouthful. They couldn’t recall having ever eaten a food they had to sort through with their tongue, but that was a thing they were doing now. The damn thing was so good they found themself not minding. “This is very-“ A loud squawk, followed by a crash. They cursed, setting down the rind and wiping their hands. They opened the door just as Arthur flew in, a sweeping arch from the door to the table where he began to attack a slice of watermelon while giving Bloodhound a death glare. They huffed. “Oh, I am _sorry_, alright?”

He keened at them and gripped the watermelons slice, dragging it to a corner of the table.

Evelyn just put her hands on her hips. “That’s a raven.”

Bloodhound rubbed the back of their neck. “Ah, yes. Arthur. I, I’m sorry.”

Evelyn waved it away. “Don’t be, honey. There’s plenty of watermelon to go around.”

They didn’t know what to do. They looked to Elliot, who flashed a thumbs-up and then opened the window above the kitchen sink, chucking the watermelon rind into the yard. “Hey Mom, I’m gonna show Bloth around.”

“Oh, sure thing!” Evelyn finally tore her eyes from Arthur, cocking her head to the side. “Should I call you Bloth or Jaime?”

Bloodhound felt a sudden, unexplained surge of panic that kind of baffled them, but they ignored it. “Bloodhound, Bloth, Hound. Whatever you wish.”

Evelyn nodded, smiling, and Bloodhound let themself be led away, relaxing as they grabbed their bags from the car. The front hall led to the kitchen on the left and the living room on the right, with a bathroom and Evelyn’s bedroom in the back, and then up the stairs was more bedrooms, stairs in the middle. Bloodhound had seen bigger houses, but that didn’t make them feel any less like it was quite a lot of space for one old woman.

“My in-laws and nieces and nephews and cousins are here a lot,” Elliot said, opening a room with a set of bunk beds and a toy chest in a timely illustration of his point. “It’s sort of a Witt family tradition to have kids way too young, so there always around.”

Bloodhound raised an eyebrow. “How many nieces and nephews do you have?”

Elliot paused, hand on the doorknob to his room. “I have…nine. But they’re all eighteen, nineteen now. I’ve got three great-nieces and a great-nephew, though.” He caught Bloodhound staring and flashed a bit of a mischievous grin. “Like I said. Witt family tradition.”

“I’ll say,” they half muttered, half laughed.

Elliot’s room was blue, which sort of surprised them considering his propensity for yellow that he seemed to share with his mother. It had posters on the wall from the Apex games, specifically some of himself, a canopy bed in the corner, sans curtains, a couch, an armoire and a vanity. It was sort of simple, if not nearly plain. They set their bags down, looking at him. “I expected your usual flair.”

He half shrugged, leaning against the doorway. “I don’t spend much time in here.”

“Well, I am here now.” They looked at him through the vanity mirror, watching him slowly grin and shut the door. They toyed with the hem of their shirt before pulling it off.

Arthur and Evelyn could keep each other company for a while.

* * *

It was a gray blockish thing. Slate-colored and sitting in the middle of a valley, which was the worst fucking location to build anything on Solace, a place that flooded several feet on the regular, especially in otherwise desert climates like the areas around Solace City. But whatever, Renee wasn’t an engineer. She darted down through a series of quick portals, arriving at the door easily. There were no guards and no other discernable security. There were no windows and only one door. She shrugged. _Here goes nothing._

She phased through the door, landing in a sterile white hall, ceilings going all the way up to the roof. Each step echoed eerily. She walked forward and around a bend, coming to a long hall. There were cells, glass-walled, tile-floored, that made her shiver. She remembered them, sitting in them while white suits stared and shined lights so bright, she couldn’t see. She remembered the headaches, the needles pressing into every inch of her, taking any fluid, any sample, any evidence that the experiment had been a success.

The hall split three ways. The voices were quiet, whispering left, so she went left. She suspected not many Renee’s had come here, what ones did might have found little success. She wanted nothing more than an answer, but part of her, the part that felt the straight jacket digging into her collar bone, hoped there was nothing here, and that she could leave.

There were smaller doors along the hall, but they yielded nothing but meeting rooms and janitorial closets. She came to another turn, and another, then another split, wandering through the massive echo with a slow apprehension building in her shoulders, forcing her to stand straight, chest tight with nerves. She wished Elliot was there. He could blabber away the oppressive quiet better than anyone. The thought made her smile.

There were no signs saying where any one section of things were; what was specimen chambers, what was the lunchroom, breakroom or offices. It took her a while to find them, but they were there, down one single hall all in a row. The rooms were simple, void of personal artifacts, just desks, chairs, and computers. The computers powered up easily. This didn’t raise her suspicions. Plenty of old IMC facilities still had working generators or tapped into local power; the lights were on but dimmed, too. She found nothing pertinent to her in the half dozen computers she searched, but she still stuck the USB drive Crypto had sent her into each one and downloaded a copy of everything. “I have no idea what you’re gonna use this for,” she said quietly to herself, “but I hope it fucks up what’s left of these bastards.”

Crypto had no loyalties that she could tell. He didn’t hate anyone, though he didn’t seem to like them either. Maybe he liked her. He seemed to be half-entertained by her, at any rate, and she knew that was worth a volume with someone like him.

She swept through two wings of offices and provided her nothing, but on her way to the third, she got a feeling and heard a single, tiny voice: _underneath you._

She swallowed, bracing herself, and willed herself to phase downward, like the day she’d met Elliot-but, well, on purpose. This landed her in a dark little room with a single lightbulb, the walls dug out of the desert dirt, floor sandy. The path ahead was dimly lit, black in spots, but she followed it, the one little voice urging her on. Dirt turned to tile, walls and floors, sickening white. She paused at a metal door, pressing her ear to it. She heard nothing. She phased through.

A single room, with a single chamber, a chair so familiar to her she seized up, and would have likely died if anyone had been in the place. But it was empty, just four desks, one per wall, and four computers. The tile in the chamber was stained a faint copper from use. No matter how hard it was clean, nothing could wash that away, and she hated to think about what happened there.

Skin tingling, she rushed through each computer, nothing, nothing, nothing, but at the last, she found something. A single file labeled WRAITH. She downloaded it all onto Crypto’s USB. Now she could leave.

Except she couldn’t.

Not without stepping into the chamber. She didn’t know why, but she was compelled, arrested by its existence, by the tile stained with insurmountable cruelty. Some other her had gone there and she had to, too.

She wrapped her fingers around the handle, balaclava moist with her breath, and inhaled deeply before tugging.

The alarm felt like it shattered her ears.

* * *

They were spitting watermelon seeds off the back porch after dinner, seeing who could spit farther-so far Elliot averaged a good few feet further than Bloodhound, but they were determined to match him, idly wondering if they could ship one of the melons to Magnus, he’d absolutely love it.

“Mmm.” Elliot placed his phone face down on the porch railing. Bloodhound glanced over, watermelon in hand, holding it so excess juice dripped on the grass.

“What?”

Elliot moved his jaw from side to side, staring out at the garden. The corn and tomatoes swayed gently in a soft breeze that brought the smell of Solace dust and cut grass. “Renee hasn’t texted back in a while.”

“That…is bad?” They broke off the tip of their watermelon, passing it off to Arthur.

“I dunno. It could be.” He cautiously tossed the phone away, onto the cushion of a wicker chair. “She told me she was going to check out an old facility. That Crypto guy told her it should be abandoned.”

They felt his eyes on them and reached out, patting his arm, letting their hand rest there. “Crypto has never let me down, I doubt he will Renee.”

“You sure? Where’d you, where did you meet this guy, anyway?” The corner of his lip twitched up, a half-smile. The waning sunlight was giving way to pinks and reds, casting him in a storybook light; it reminded them of the photo in their prayer book. “Last I checked, you’re kind of a technophobe.”

“A chance encounter in Gaea, willed by the Allfather. He helped me understand more of, of computers and their brethren, and I helped him in my own way. We help each other. He…does not know I am Bloodhound. He only knows me as Jaime.” They smiled. “He thinks I’m some weird woods hermit.”

Elliot laughed. “Oh, honey, you are a weird woods hermit. But you’re _my_ weird woods hermit.”

They grinned, wide and toothy with the dimples they’d come to know he loved. “You’re my pest.”

He leaned in and kissed them, a sweet lingering kiss, broken by a soft chuckle. “You’re a sappy dork.”

“You’ve hardly called me by my name since I got back,” they retorted gently, reveling in how he sputtered to retort.

“Y-yeah but, well, but, you decided my name is Elly all of the sudden, didn’t you?”

They knew they were blushing now, both because they felt it and because Elliot had a stupid smug little grin on his face. “Shut up.”

“You’re so cute.”

“Shut _up_.”

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm why doooontchaaaaa make me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“You would too, I bet.”

“Mm, might be right about that.” They smirked, holding up their watermelon slice. “How about whomever chucks the rind the furthest?”

“What’s the wager?”

“Well I don’t know what you want,” they said, voice gaining a rich sensuality as they lowered it, “but I have an idea for that loud mouth of yours.”

His face darkened slightly when he blushed, eyes wide. Smoothly, he replied, “you’re getting a little chatty there yourself, babe.”

They offered their hand to seal the wager, and he took it; but instead of shaking it, Elliot brought their knuckles to his lips, smiling as he kissed them.

* * *

Tae Joon was not expecting anyone. He was dressed down-which is to say, he wasn’t wearing his jacket. He’d just opened the take-out container of japchae from the kitchen upfront and had pulled the first disgustingly huge pile of noodles into his mouth when someone fell out of his ceiling. He choked, spitting it back into the container, making a mess of himself. The figure was lying face-first on his floor; small, womanly-_oh my God, you’ve got to be kidding me._

He knelt down and pulled her onto her side-yep, that was Wraith-Renee, whatever. She was bleeding profusely from a cut above her brow. Cursing, Tae Joon sat her up, leaning her against the leg of his desk and pulling down the balaclava. She stirred, eyes half opening and rolling around the room blankly. “Yon, lights,” he said, the lights blinding him as they turned on with a medical brightness that shined off the metal interior. He got a first aid kit, checking Renee over before proceeding to wipe the blood from her face; there didn’t seem to be any other injuries.

He could see the mind starting to come back, her eyes gaining focus on his face-which was, admittedly, way to close. “C-Crypto?” She croaked.

“I told you not to be an idiot.” He reversed the medical cloth and dipped it in alcohol, dabbing the line above her brow.

She didn’t even wince, just squinted. “How, uh, how did I get here?”

“You dropped through my ceiling.”

“Oh.” She huffed slightly. He could feel her watching him while he rummaged for the medical glue and tape. “Last time that happened, I met my best friend.”

“You hit your head pretty hard.” He muttered, hating the fondness that crept into his voice. And the curiosity. “What happened?”

She swallowed, closing one eye while he started gluing the cut together. He couldn’t say he’d ever had a better patient, himself included. “Facility seemed abandoned as you said. Went through the whole thing, didn’t find shit. Then I found a secret room, underground. Just an experimentation chamber and four computers. I opened the door, alarm went off. Bullets started flying out of the walls. Alarm fucked my head up. I kind of panicked myself into the void and I guess it…brought me here.”

“_Mapsosa_, why the hell would you open the chamber?”

“Voices,” she made a whirly sign toward her head. “Felt like I had to. Fuck if I know why.”

He pursed his lips, pressing a bandage to the glue and securing it with medical tape. In a few hours the healing agents within the glue would seal her cut completely and prevent a scar. He stood, acutely aware of the noodle juice all over his damn shirt as he offered her a hand. She took it and he hauled her up-she was surprisingly heavy for her height. “Did you at least find anything useful?”

She pulled out the USB drive. “I don’t know about the other stuff, but I found one file labeled WRAITH in the last room.”

He took the drive, plugging it into the side of one of his monitors and kicking the rolling stool out for her in the same movement. It automatically started downloading, the files appearing on the screen and across his optical implant. It was a horde of IMC data, largely mundane but still valuable on certain markets. The WRAITH file popped up, opening only across the implant. It was coded, of course, but he sent it to Yon, who settled down in her charging dock on his desk and hummed slightly while she passed it through the 1.2k decoder algorithms in her system. Renee sat quietly, watching.

He dimmed the lights, so they weren’t so glaring and sat in his chair. “_Gomawo_. Nothing interesting but I am decoding the last file.”

“What do you think is in it?”

“No idea,” he said, honestly.

She nodded, glancing at the table and looking a little embarrassed. “I uh, interrupted dinner?”

Crypto paused, giving his stomach the opportunity to growl like a deranged cat. He could tell she was biting back a laugh. “Yah. Are you hungry?” Why was he asking?

She looked surprised. “Uh, well…yeah, actually.”

“Wait here.” Why did he care? He didn’t, but he still got up and went out front and got another box of japchae, much to the amusement of the owner. He hoped she could phase out like she phased in because he sure as hell didn’t want anyone thinking he was having that sort of company over. She was sitting patiently when he returned, taking the food with a gracious thank you.

He took a moment to change his shirt in the tiny bathroom off the main room, then came back and sat, consciously being far more civilized with his eating. He was uncomfortably relaxed, muscles loose but all too aware of every move he was making. He’d not had anyone just…eat with him, in his “home”, in years. He wanted to hate her, a Legend, a part of that which took everything. But with no memories and a bandage on her forehead, what remained of his humanity wouldn’t let him; he felt he could relate, in some way. And she was the politest client he’d had, crashing through his ceiling notwithstanding.

Yon beeped and the decoded file flashed across his implant. He paused to read it, hearing a small chuckle a few moments later. He closed the interface with a thought, raising an eyebrow at Renee, who started giggling. It was at that moment he realized he’d stopped to read with noodles still hanging from his mouth. He bit off the end, wanting to ignore it but she wouldn’t stop giggling and soon, he was laughing a bit too. It was a strange feeling in his chest. “I suppose that looked stupid.”

She was covering her smile with both hands, eyes alight with mirth. “P-Pretty stupid, yeah.”

He was smiling. _Why do you have to smile?_ “I am very glad those contacts can’t record anything,” he joked.

She let her grin show. “I’d call it a tragedy.”

He rolled his eyes, setting the noodles aside, trying to recompose himself-but he was still smiling, just a little, and the air was lighter, warmer. Not the usual metallic cold. He commanded the file contents to appear on the largest screen-a list of coordinates. He pointed. “The first set is for locating a planet. The second is for locating something else, presumably other centers or possibly the location of those who were involved in project WRAITH.”

She nodded slightly; brow knit. “I’ve got a feeling about this, but I can’t say if its good or bad. But if it’s locations, I wanna go through them all. Closest to furthest.”

Crypto nodded, sending the command to Yon to organize the data. “Yah, sounds good.”

“I don’t know how fast I’ll make it through all this-it depends when the Games start up again. I don’t want people to know I’m going after this stuff.” She shivered. “Especially not the Syndicate.” She looked at him, chewing her lip. “How long are you willing to work with me on this?”

He thought a moment. “As long as it takes.”

She seemed surprised, and relieved. “Thank you, Crypto.”

“Yah.” He took up the container of japchae again, purposefully focusing on the computer screen. “Just don’t be an idiot again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
On Renee's Void: I wanted to exert some creativity, knowing full well what the void looks like in her Outlands video. I might expand on how things kinda work with this void; personally I think it sort of exists alongside the one in the video. But nonetheless.
> 
> Thank you all for the support in this fic, esp the last chapter it was a better response than I could have ever imagined. You're all lovely and please don't hesitate to give your two cents on this fic-what you like and don't, what you wanna see more of, whatever. Your support means the world. 
> 
> Translation:  
Si bastante bien - Yes, pretty good  
peque - child, little, little boy  
Mapsosa - oh my god (exasperated, like "I can't believe this shit")  
Gomawo/Gomowah - casual thank you.
> 
> If you get the chapter summary reff you get a cookie.


	16. Stark Glinting Cobalt Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakdown; Breakthrough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE
> 
> Okay first:
> 
> There is mention of past abuse in this chapter, it's not physical and isn't graphically detailed, I really don't feel the need to tag it currently but if someone disagrees with me please politely request in the comments and I'll add a tag. 
> 
> Announcement:
> 
> Chapters will now be uploaded on SUNDAYS. I do intend to stick to the every-two-week schedule as a MINIMUM, but if I get something done early (like this 5.3k beastie) and feel comfortable with my plans for the next chapter, there might be a chapter 2+ weeks in a row. Again, depends. 
> 
> Anyway thank you all for the support, it's always appreciated. It's an absolute joy to read and reply to your comments, and I have no idea where these kudos keep coming from but thank you too, random citizens!
> 
> And yes, even if you don't kudo I love you too.

They’d started wearing jewelry. First an earring made of one of Arthur’s feathers, bound to a small chain with golden wire and hooked onto a plain gold stud. Then a necklace, leather cord with a clear stone, like rugged glass. They wore a second necklace on occasion, another leather cord but a small green stone. A ring, with runes he could read now, little blessings of protection, and of love. His favorite was the bracelets, leather and metal cords, dangling with gemstones of varying colors and shape.

He didn’t ask why, he just said he liked it. Because he did; it looked nice on them.

About two weeks into staying at his mother’s he walked in while they were sitting at the vanity, a box lined with blue velvet beside them, holding a menagerie of jewelry, much of it stuff he’d never seen. He was quiet coming behind them, watching them stare into the box until the last moment, where he laid his hands on their shoulders. The didn’t startle, just looked in the mirror at him. “Elliot, I thought you were gardening.”

“I was, came up for my phone.” He inclined his head toward the box, not bothering to hide his interest. “I didn’t know you had so much.”

“I do,” they said softly, leaning back into him. He gently pressed his thumbs at the base of their neck, kneading around to the back. They grunted softly and flopped their head back, looking up at him. He smiled and kissed them.

“Honestly, didn’t expect you to be a jewelry person.”

“Mm, I used to be.” They reached out, touching an amethyst stone with a fingertip. “I don’t get to wear it much now. Too much noise, inconvenient in the suit. Draws too much attention. Haven’t really worn it in years but…well, I couldn’t help but take some pieces when I treasure hunted.”

Elliot feigned surprise. “You were a treasure hunter?”

“Some of those rumors about me are true.” They grinned. “There’s not a pirate in any galaxy that’s had as much success as I have. I sold or donated most of what I found, but some of these, like this,” they lifted a ruby ring delicately, the ornate bronze work of the band glinting in the light, “I took as my own.”

Elliot paused, looking at the necklaces and earrings and bracelets, all beautiful, and evidently all _insanely fucking expensive?_ “What made you start wearing it again?”

That made them go quiet, but Elliot wasn’t really worried anymore when they did that. Either they’d tell him in the present, or they’d tell him later. “I finally felt like I…could.” They put a hand over his where it rested on their shoulder and squeezed gently, looking up at him. They were hesitating, cheeks pink. “I feel safe here, with you. With your mother. On this street. It’s quiet. I don’t feel like I have to blend in with the wall. I can be…” They looked almost baffled by it. “I can be myself.”

He was stunned a second before he sat down next to them, straddling the bench seat and hugging them, they into it. “That means so much to hear, Bloth.” He whispered, kissing by their ear. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry_.

They looked like they wanted to say something but instead melded with him, turning so they faced each other and hugging him properly. Elliot rested his head on their shoulder, opening his eyes in time to see his mother backpedaling away from the door as fast as possible. He covered up the laugh by nuzzling their neck then pulled back, smiling and idly playing with the hair that had gotten so goddamn long, midway down their back at this point. “_Get ég fléttað hárið?_” _Can I braid your hair?_

They raised their eyebrows, looking impressed. “_Takk._ You’ve been practicing.”

“What else do I have to do when you’re committing every embarrassing story my mom will tell you to memory?” He joked, though it was definitely not a joke. He knew his mother. They hummed, handing him a brush that slid easily through the soft locks of hair. “How do you even keep it this soft?”

“Eggs.”

He stopped mid-brush. “What?”

“Eggs. Scramble an egg. Put it in your hair. Use cold water. Mayonnaise sometimes, too.”

He stared at them as they picked out some bracelets for the day. “Hon, that’s fuckin weird.”

“It works.” They smirked. “And it doesn’t cost 40 dollars a bottle.”

“Do not insult my shampoo choices.”

“Oh, I’m insulting your shampoo choices.”

He snorted. He supposed there was some merit to it, considering how soft their hair was running between his fingers. He curled the end of the braid around his finger; there was just enough bounce in their hair that it made an adorable little curly cue. He watched them debate over a couple necklaces and rested his chin on their head. “Why not the blue one?”

“Which blue one?”

He reached forward, taking a smaller necklace on a black cord-whether of leather or something else Elliot wasn’t sure, but he pulled it around their neck, the stone resting at the dip of their collarbones, a stark glinting cobalt blue. “Lookit that. Gorgeous.”

“I know it’s hard, but can you look away from yourself for a moment and tell me how the necklace looks?”

He rolled his eyes, standing up and tying the necklace, getting an idea at the same moment. He leaned back down, kissing their cheek, moving towards their jaw while he ghosted his hands down their sides. They started to laugh, turning to a soft sigh when his lips met their neck, his hands edging up the hem of their shirt. He had half a mind to close the door and continue with what he was doing, but no, he decided. He would enjoy this much more.

He had his hands under their shirt, slowly running one hand upward, the other across their stomach. He paused to nip at the nape of their neck, watching them in the mirror through his hair. Their lips turned up slyly, eyes half lidded, hand moving up to his head, gently brushing his hair behind his ear while they watched him. Man, he was really tempted.

But, no.

They were perfectly relaxed, leaning into him, angling their head to welcome his affections. Playing with his hair, which was not helping his resolve, but then they moved their hand away he struck, tickling along their ribs and belly with no mercy. The squeal that erupted from their throat was the most hilarious noise he’d ever heard them make; what wasn’t hilarious was the reflexive flinging-back of their hand that nailed him right in the nose.

He stumbled back, ripping his hands from under their shirt and covering his nose as he fell on his ass, then his back. Bloodhound was yelling, and then they were on top of him. He could feel blood gathering at the dip of his upper lip. “I’m okay,” he mumbled, looking up at a very unconvinced Bloodhound.

Another figure stepped into his visual and he parted his hands, Bloodhound cursing in Odin’s Tongue, curses he knew, now, were _rather profane_, and waved slightly. “Hi, Renee. Been awhile.”

She had her hands on her hips. His mother soon was by her side. “Dude, can I not leave you without you incurring some kind of injury?”

“I’m sorry!” Bloodhound said, somewhere between exasperation and guilt.

“What happened?” His mom produced a handkerchief that he started to wipe his nose with, wincing. This didn’t make it past Bloth.

“By Allfather’s spear, did I break your nose?!”

He sniffed, which hurt, and held the handkerchief under his nose, which also hurt. The shock was wearing off, replaced with pooling warm pain. “Uh, yeah.”

They let off a string of curses and apologies, red faced with guilt, while Elliot, despite the pain, started laughing. “Babe, babe it’s no big deal, _cielo_,” he reached up to grab one of their wildly gesticulating hands, looking them in the eye for emphasis, “it’s _fine_.”

“I _broke your nose_.”

“It’s not a hard fix.” He slowly sat up, feeling the blood rush down his nose and, on a whim, gently tweaked their chin-something they’d done to him on more than one occasion. “There’s a clinic down the road, okay?”

They cocked their head to the side, the frown on their lips and the look in their eyes-it was almost panicked, like when they’d told him about Magnus. He would have expected them to nearly laugh something like this off with him. He mentally filed it away as they helped him to his feet. “Okay.”

“I still don’t know what happened,” Evelyn said.

“I tickled them.” Elliot said with a small smile.

They glanced at the floor. When they looked up again, they seemed a little more normal, flexing their fingers. “Reflexes.”

* * *

His mom drove, Elliot hit with the distinct memory of him and his friends being carted to the nearest clinic when he was 8 because they thought riding an old shopping cart down 31st would be a good idea. His dad had congratulated him on only breaking one arm. Man, he missed his dad…

“I’m sorry,” Bloodhound mumbled again. He squeezed their hand.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m impressed,” he reassured, again, laughing. His nose hurt like an absolute bitch but it was still funny as hell. And a rather interesting face-to-face meeting for them and Renee, who was currently bitching to his mother about how short she was compared to everyone she knew.

They fidgeted with the gem of the necklace. “What does _cielo_ mean?”

“Sky.” He said, remembering earlier, and smiling. “_Cielito _and _cielita_ are diminutives. There’s, ah, no gender-neutral diminutive in Spanish.”

They thought a moment, smiling slightly. “_Tú es mi cielito_.”

“_þú ert elskan mín__._” He smiled.

“You guys are adorable and disgusting.” Renee said, peering at them through the mirror on the visor.

“Thank you,” they said together, Elliot using every muscle in his body to not snort with Bloodhound for fear of instant death.

The clinic was an easy walk in, wait thirty minutes and then go back. The entire time Bloodhound looked…uncomfy. Just a little off. Elliot guessed it was being out, with him in the daytime; they’d not really gone far past the neighborhood and the park therein, where he was just the famous guy that lived down the street and occasionally signed autographs for his neighbor’s relatives. Here was far enough that…yeah, it was a little bit of a risk. But soon enough he was back in a room with a doctor who raised an eyebrow. “Mirage. Love your Games.”

He nodded at him, grinned. “Glad to hear. Always great to meet a fan.”

“What did you do?” He readied a miniature re-alignment machine, sort of a mask that went over the nose and mouth and did some mystic medical mumbo-jumbo. It only worked for a certain period of time after an injury, usually a few hours. Elliot and his rambunctious childhood were very familiar with them.

“Fell down a flight of stairs.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, you know, no stairs to fall down in the arena.” He grinned.

The doctor fastened the mask over his face. “But there are stairs in the arena. Lots of them.”

“Oh uh, right, I knew that.” He glanced away as the re-alignment machine began to hum and he felt the weird, liquid warm feeling of bone going back in place. Fifteen minutes and he was out with no worse than a sore nose. Bloodhound and Renee were gone.

His mom spoke before he could ask, “they felt like they were being watched. They’re in the car.”

He glanced around, but no one was even giving him a second look. Still, he suddenly felt uneasy. “Let’s go, then.”

Bloodhound brightened when they saw him. “You’re alright?”

“I’m fine.” He smiled, getting in the back with them. “But you know what? I’m hungry.”

“I’m starving,” Renee said.

“You’re always starving.” He looked at Bloodhound. “You guys have something in common.”

They crossed their arms. “I am not always hungry.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you aaaare.”

“_No_.”

“_Yes_.”

They narrowed their eyes. “Are you just trying to annoy me?”

“You do look kinda cute when you are. Your nose kinda, scrunches up? Man, I don’t know the…” He trailed off as he saw his mother’s face in the visor mirror-she looked angry. “ Ma?”

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” she slowed to a stop on the street outside the house before hopping out, leaving the car running.

Renee looked back quizzingly. “What?”

He bent over to see the porch and froze. “No _fucking _way.” Elliot tried to slide out, almost choked himself on the seatbelt, undid it and then got out as the shouting started. There was his mother glaring up at him, a navy-blue suit and hair brushed to the side, business shoes that cost more than the mortgage on the house.

He was trying to talk to her, above the shouting, when he turned head and saw Elliot. He grinned. Elliot clenched his fists. “Hey, kiddo!”

“Don’t you talk to him!” His mother shouted.

“Man, you got big, huh?”

Elliot gave his best withering glare. “I think it’s kind of obvious you’re not wanted here, Jack.”

“Why, I was just coming to visit your mother-“

“I told you to stop coming here!”

Elliot glanced between them. “Mom, he’s come here before?” She went quiet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“She didn’t think you’d like it,” Jack said with a maddening smoothness.

He glanced between them. “Ma?”

“It was one cup of coffee.” She pursed her lips. “Before I was reminded how much of an _ass_ you are, Jack.”

“All I did was ask a little question, Eve.”

“All you ever wanted to ask was _little questions_.”

“Well, you are the smartest woman in the world, dear. All I ever wanted was to even scratch the surface of that brilliance.”

Elliot’s face contorted like he’d swallowed a sour grape and he walked up, between them. Jack was still taller than him, but Elliot had a higher body count. “Just fuck off, man.”

“Wow, you got a little foul mouthed since I last saw you, huh?”

“Stop talking like you know me and get the _fuck_ off my porch or I swear to God I will drag you off of it myself.” His chest was heaving, and his fists kept shaking no matter how hard he clenched them.

Jack eyed him a moment, smiling oh-so-amicably before turning his head at the scuff of a shoe, Bloodhound and Renee now standing at the foot of the driveway, faces etched with concern. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.” His eyes flickered over Bloodhound and settled on Renee. “Wraith. It’s an honor to meet you in person; I had no idea you two were friends.”

Renee glanced over at Elliot, then looked back at Jack, silent. Bloodhound didn’t move their eyes off him for a second. He waited, but eventually inclined his head and took one simple step back off the porch. “Wouldn’t want to disturb you all, I simply dropped by for a visit. Have a lovely afternoon, won’t you?”

Elliot’s lip twitched.  
Jack smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. It never had. “Good day then, Evelyn. Elliot, it was good to see you again, you’ve become quite the young Legend. Don’t be a stranger.” He climbed into his car, sleek and black and shining, and left. Elliot waited a beat before rounding on his mother.

“What the hell do you mean a cup of coffee?”

“That. A cup of coffee.” She wouldn’t meet his eye. “I was already at the coffee shop. We ran into each other. I don’t know Elliot, he just…”

“Was nice and sweet and handsome and kind?” His voice was raised, a yell that tapered into seething concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. He’s come three times, but never made it past the door.”

“Good. Where’s your stash.”

She looked confused a moment before it dawned on her. “The fox.”

He nodded once and rounded the corner, going through the gate. The fox was peering from a spider plant, ceramic nose glinting in the sunlight. He lifted him, took the smokes and lighter there and opened it. Three cigarettes were missing. It made him even angrier. He lit the cigarette and sucked in as much as he could, sputtering half of it out with a cough before sucking in more, lungs burning like hell. He took an extra and then replaced the pack, walking as he smoked, through the garden until he reached the playsets in the back. There was one that looked like a cottage, two storied with two slides and a swing set off the side. Another was a set of normal sized swings.

He sat on the playset swing. It was too small, and the chains dug into his ass, but the last thing he felt like right now was being comfortable. He powered through the first cigarette, focusing on the burn in his chest and the stinging in his throat and nose, the crisp hurt when he rubbed away the remaining hot ash from the filter before shoving the butt in his jean pocket. He let himself have some fresh air, a gulp or two, before lighting the second cigarette. This one he forced himself to savor, succoring himself with the feeling of the sun on his back and the gentle rise of smoke that discontinued existence soon as it touched the blue expanse of sky.

They didn’t try to cover the sound of their footsteps. He leaned his head against the chain and waited, as he learned to do.

Renee was the first to speak. “You good?”

“No.”

A pause. “Are you going to be good?”

“Are any of us?”

“Elliot.”

He sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay…do you…want us to go?” He could feel the edging unease in her voice.

He leaned further into the chain, swaying slightly, knees nearer his chest than not in the short swing. The beam above him creaked. “Do what you want.” There was quiet, and for a moment he thought they were going back to the house. But with a symphony of creaks he had Bloodhound on his right and Renee on his left. Renee actually fit in the swing. He almost laughed.

Nobody said anything. They just sat there with him in the breeze, and he felt a warmth not from the sun roll over him. He didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to. He could just sit there with them until the swing chains permanently joined themselves to his ass. And they wouldn’t have told him any differently. He finished his smoke and kept the filter between his fingers. “Mom tell you?”

“No,” Renee said, “she said it’d probably be better you did. If you wanted to.”

“Did she look okay?”

“She looked guilty,” Bloth said, with a knowing dip in their tone.

He nodded, not being able to help the thought that she _should_ feel guilty, much as it made his stomach churn. “That guy was Jack Jaakobah. Local politician with a degree in cajoling. And my mom’s ex from…shit, forever ago.” He let his head flop back, staring at the sky. “They were off and on for a few years.”

“…Wasn’t good, huh?” Renee chanced.

“Fuck no. We lost my dad, then two years later all my brothers went missing, and then two years when after that she met Jackoff. He was all sweetness and empathy and light, really knew what to say and when and how. He’s a snake with dead eyes and he knew my mom was scared and alone and took advantage of that. He knew I was scared and young and took advantage of that. It all seemed fine at first, you know? He made her smile. After my brothers I would have traded my left arm to make her smile like that.”

“But little by little he started critiquing things and questioning everything she did-the way she walked, how she put on her makeup, who she talked to, what she ate. He did it to me, too, but he fucked up, said I should put away the picture of my brother’s because what use was it to think about dead men? Made me snap out of it. I started fighting him every chance I got.” He was aware he was rambling, that he’d already said more than he ever needed to, they didn’t need to know, they didn’t need to worry. But he couldn’t stop. “Mom would periodically leave him, or he’d twist it to make it seem like her fault, and then come back when just enough time had passed for her to want somebody again and lay on all the charm he had before.”

“It was rough. I love my mom and we still got along, mostly when he was gone, but…she’d never quite…she thought I was mad because I missed my dad. And I was. But I was madder that someone so smart could be so stupid. I…I know now that even the strongest person can get taken down by abuse, even the smartest can get caught up in some twisted narrative, but back then all I was was mad. She finally made him leave for good when he tried to convince her to stop wearing the ring Dad gave her. It was like turning on a light, she just realized everything he did and everything I’d been saying for years and told him to leave and never come back. He tried but she just didn’t answer the door.” He half shrugged. “It was over. We made up. I haven’t seen him in over a decade. Except on his stupid campaign posters.”

His throat felt raw. He’d never told anyone about that. Not even Jordyn. He felt a reflexive need to laugh it off, but he couldn’t. “So, I guess I was mad he was here, but maybe I’m just as mad she even talked to him. Is that bad?”

Bloodhound scuffed the toe of their boot against the dirt and looked over at Renee, then at him. “I don’t think so. You were abused too.”

“Yeah,” Renee said softly, “I wasn’t there, so maybe I shouldn’t make assumptions, but she didn’t listen to you, and it’s not completely her fault because it sounds like she was kind of brainwashed, but she also probably ignored a couple early warning signs that you were probably too young to catch. You were both victims. And talking to the guy that hurt both of you, well, it hurts both of you again.”

He nodded, just slightly. He felt a few hairs get tugged out of his head when he leaned it away from the chain. “It was complicated. I think this is probably complicated too…I don’t know.” He inhaled deeply, taking Bloodhound’s hand when they offered it, the firm roughness of their palm against his was comforting. “Now that I’ve thought about it, it was probably just a…I don’t know, a human moment. Humans are dumb. I should talk to her.”

Renee, who had quietly started swinging, jumped off at that. Bloodhound got up and he did too, inhaling deeply. “Hey uh…thanks. I talked too much but-“

“You did not.” Renee said, whacking his arm lightly. Bloodhound passed their hand over his cheek and gave a simple peck on the lips. He felt lighter.

On the way back he stopped at the watermelon and Bloodhound cut through a vine. He brought it in, cutting it on the table much the way his mother did and put one slice on a plate, walking to her bedroom. He knocked.

It took her a moment to answer. She looked up at him, then at the watermelon. Her lower lip trembled. “I’m sorry, _peque_.”

He breathed deeply. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. _I’m_ sorry.” He held up the plate. “Reconciliation watermelon?”

The corner of her mouth twitched up and she waved him in. They sat on the bench of a large bay window that faced the yard, watermelon between them. Elliot had neglected to bring spoons or anything else, so they carved oddball chunks out using a pair of knitting needles his mother had never once used for knitting. “I was telling the truth, Elliot,” she said after a moment, “about the coffee. He just appeared and I didn’t know what to do. First thing he did was ask for a chance to apologize. So, I gave him that. The second thing he asked was how I had been.”

“And that’s where he got you,” Elliot said quietly, watching her skewer a watermelon chunk.

“That’s where he got me.” She said, voice pinched. “But it never left the coffee shop. I never asked him to come over. I never agreed to see him again.”

“Mom,” Elliot leaned against the corner where the wall and window connected, “why haven’t you called the cops on him?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Elliot didn’t hound her. He rarely found himself hounding people, nowadays; he was perfectly fine waiting. He could tell she noticed, but she didn’t acknowledge it. “Jack has…connections. He always had, but since he entered politics, they’ve gotten…he has more. And better ones.” She frowned at him. “He wants something from me Elliot. If I had to guess, something to do with the holotech. All those little questions, they were always about the holotech.”

“That’s fucking worrying, Mom.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“Mom I’m…I’m not a kid, you know?”

She inhaled deeply, for a moment seeming thinner, older. But it passed, the usual Evelyn Witt backbone taking its place. “I know, Elliot. But I knew you’d worry. And he hadn’t come in a while before today, so I thought…I told myself he’d given up. And I don’t want you stopping anything for this-when the Games are back, you go back, continue your life, understand?”

“What? No way, Mom some asshole abusive ex with “connections” keeps coming to your door I’m not-“

“I can handle myself, dearest, I-“

“No.” She stopped, in a blinking kind of shock. Elliot pointed with his knitting needle, mind racing. “No, you’re not doing this by yourself. I-I’m not just going to do whatever with my life, I m-mean I can’t, you’re a part of it. Just because you’ve done almost everything by yourself for so long doesn’t mean you have to, and it doesn’t mean you get to, to put yourself in danger!”

She blinked at him, eyes wide, like an owl. He spoke before she could, “like, I get it, fine. I’ll go back to the Games and everything. But we get some security cameras on the outside and you stop not telling me stuff like I’m eleven. Deal?” He held out his hand.

Evelyn paused, then grabbed his hand firmly and shook it with a comical vigor. “Deal, Elliot.”

They stared at each other as seriously as possible before their faces cracked into grins and they giggled.

* * *

Renee and Bloodhound were made aware of the Jack situation, the former’s eye flicking a little oddly before she suddenly said she could get what they needed. She walked out and was back by dinner, where she poured a pocketful of little round robots on the table that rolled in between the plates. “You got those from Crypto,” Bloodhound noted.

“Yeah.”

Bloodhound raised an eyebrow. “They’re expensive.”

“Oh, uh, he just…gave them to me,” she muttered the last part, everyone else sharing a look. Turned out the little buggers could fly and did so rather like a very fast bumblebee, planting themselves at various places outside of the house, making for a full view with zero blind spots. Renee sent Elliot and his mother a definitely not kosher app that allowed operation and monitoring of the cameras at any time. “It’ll notify any of us if it’s something alive, they have heat sensing…thingies. Crypto will also be able to monitor it.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn whispered, reading glasses perched on her nose as she explored, mumbling to herself.

Things were weirdly normal, considering the afternoon. Evelyn retired early and the three played cards and drank a little whiskey before going to bed.

Bloodhound was copying scripture when Elliot came from the shower. The small altar they’d made sat beside the desk with some blueberries and a shot of whiskey on the offering plate, candles burning alongside a small, earthy incense stick. They’d never lit it at night, but he didn’t mention it. They liked to have quiet when they wrote.

Arthur, who had taken residence in a miniature dog bed on top of the armoire, glided down to the bed and hopped over to Elliot. He nibbled at his ear, crooning. Elliot tried to scratch under his chin like Bloodhound did, and apparently, he did alright because the bird didn’t try to snap off one of his fingers like he usually did. “You like me tonight, buddy? That it?” He asked him softly, but the bird just crooned and walked onto Elliot’s stomach and settled down. His talons weren’t as sharp as Elliot anticipated, and he let Elliot pet his feathers. Once Bloodhound stood he flew back to the armoire.

Bloodhound pet him and gave him a treat, then went to the altar, meeting Elliot’s eye as they knelt in front of it. “I thought an extra blessing would be helpful. After a day like today.” They mumbled the last part, bowing in front of the altar and then licking their fingers and swiftly putting out the candles and breaking off the end of the incense.

“That’s sweet of you.” He said. His voice felt putty soft, like he couldn’t talk above a loud hush even if he wanted to. They came to him, kissing him with a hand on either side of his face. They pulled back barely, eyes half closed and scanning his face through their lashes. They ran their thumbs over his cheekbones before kissing him again, deeply, and much as he liked it, much as he sighed into the touch, he shook his head. They simply planted their next kiss on his cheek and then climbed over him, sitting on their knees to pull their shirt over their head before getting under the covers.

He turned out the light, the only illumination coming from the moon through the window, the whole room appearing dark blue. He kissed their cheek and turned to his side to sleep, but felt their hand on his side, tugging slightly.

He let himself be tugged.

Tugged and turned until he was facing them, and then pulled toward them until his head resting on their chest. He craned his head up to look at them, wondering. They gently pulled their fingers through his hair, nails delicately scratching his scalp, soon soothing him into relaxing, his muscles becoming as much putty as his voice. That was when they leaned down and whispered. “You’re one of the strongest people I have ever met, Elliot. You know you are, right?”

He looked up at them, at their eyes glinting with moonlight, as intense-but somehow, softer. He couldn’t process the words, in some sort of shock; not because he didn’t believe what they said, but because he _did_. Because, somehow, if they said it, it could be true. He knew, then. He felt it, felt it so hard, so deeply.

_Say it_.

_Tell. Them._

He sat up on his elbow, arm laid over them. It was on his tongue. He could say it, right now. Let them know.

Or he could kiss them, caress them. He could watch them smile, feel it against his lips, and then let himself be pushed back down again. Let his head rest on their chest, the steady rise and fall of their breathing a lullaby, their hand petting his head, soothing his eyes closed.

He could tell them, yes. Or, with closed eyes and languid limbs, with soft breaths and a gentle grip on their side, with a sleepy press of lips to their breastbone before he fully entered the stars of sleep, he could show them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tdlr: Elliot grows a backbone. Sort of.
> 
> Translations:  
Tú es mi cielito – You are my sky, masculine diminutive. (Literally: “You are my little heaven”)  
þú ert elskan mín – you are my darling.


	17. Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renee and Crypto continue to search for her truth; Bloodhound and Elliot finally come to terms with their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YaYEET. Thanks as always for the support y'all. Your comments and kudos give me life. And if you just stumble upon and read this once in a while, that's cool too. 
> 
> As always, translations featured in end notes + note about this chapter, future, etc

He was accustomed to popping wind noise of a portal appearing in his bunker by now. He turned, watching her step through-her eyes were almost violet today, rimmed in gold, and her hair was dyed a fawnish red. “Not very subtle.”

“Let a girl live a little,” she responded, tossing him the drive. She’d added a sticker of an ice cream cone with a smiley face on it.

“Anything new?” He turned, plugging the drive in and watching files fly across the screen. The last batch had built his coffers up considerably, the burn from Suotamo almost healed.

“Nothing seemed interesting,” she pulled out the stool, hand rising to brush over Yon as she flitted by. “Looked like some stuff about cloaking tech, but it’s surface level.”

“Mm,” he agreed, watching it go by. He was aware, now, that Elliot Witt was her best friend, and that she had been staying with him and his mother. He was a little jealous; he could only imagine what a conversation with that woman was like. “I haven’t seen any disturbances besides a couple squirrels.”

Renee nodded, pausing. “They’re starting the Games up again in a week. Still at Kings Canyon.”

“For now,” he said, sending the files to his sell bin for later. He crossed off two more locations on the list he’d written in Hangul (which Renee could almost read by now) and then looked at her. “You do know you will be moving off planet soon, yah?”

“I…kinda figured,” she drew one leg up, wrapping her arms around it with her chin on her knee, “with how you’ve been talking. Do you know where?”

“Far.” That’s all he knew. His attempts to mask his PC as one within the Syndicate’s system failed beyond a level 3 clearance. He would need to go there himself and hack into one of the old IMC computers; from what Renee had told him, the idiots more than likely were connected to the network in some way, enough for him to breach. But he’d have to camp there. He hated camping. “I’ll tell you when I know more.”

“Sure thing.” She came to stand beside him, looking at the list. “There’s only two more on Solace.”

“Next would be Gridiron.”

“That’s not very close.”

“It might be, in a couple months.”

She shook her head, sighing. “Right.”

She was worrying at her lip. She had been quite frequently, he guessed; it was almost mangled, peeled to the point of bleeding in spots, and her nails were chewed to nubs. He wasn’t even aware it was happening until he was doing it; he put a hand on her arm, looking up from his chair and saying in the most reassuring voice he could, “hey, we’ll find something. They might be getting farther, but there’s still plenty left.”

She stared at him a moment before nodding, smile small and fleeting. “I hope you’re right.”

“I usually am.” She snorted, moving away to pet Yon. Yon couldn’t actually feel anything, he didn’t have the hardware for that, but she purred as if she did. She just liked the attention. He glanced toward the time on his main monitor, biting back a sigh. “Ah, look I have another client coming in about ten minutes. He’s usually timely.”

She nodded. “I got you. Should be grabbing lunch with Elliot actually. Was avoiding the lecture,” she said with halfhearted humor, wiggling her nubby nails. _Well, at least she’s self-aware._ “Dinner?”

He smiled slightly. “Yah.”

* * *

_Mabbie, _

_Today I made a snowball with a rock inside it and I threw it at Eyja. Teacher said you did the same when you were my age at Eyja’s mother and asked that you please tell me not to do that again but Eyja wouldn’t stop stuffing snow in my hood so please don’t tell me I have to say sorry or anything. Pamma said that I still shouldn’t throw rocks at people and that you’re a bad example of how to behave but they still call Ailuros Loki so I don’t care. _

_I am practicing English when Pamma is hunting. Amma is helping lots. Afi sleeps mostly or weaves. Auntie Katla got drunk and almost set the tavern on fire so Austar banned her again. Otherwise it is very boring. _

_I love you lots and miss you and can’t wait to see you again. Pamma misses you too but they won’t say it. _

_Love_

_Magnus_

Bloodhound smiled at the letter, tracing their thumb over his name. His handwriting was getting better, though still shit. They’d had to get a handle on it before the chicken scratch became a real habit. They could feel his presence before his hands, chin soon resting on their shoulder. They tilted the letter so he could read it. Or at least try.

“I thought I was bad,” Elliot muttered, kissing their neck as he said it.

“He’s 9,” they chuckled, placing it on the desk. “Can you read it at all?”

“Kinda.” He cocked his head to the side. “He’s…pretty articulate for a 9-year-old, isn’t he?”

“He is.” They smiled, idly beginning a letter back. They had finally told Magnus about Elliot on a two week visit back home. He’d not been particularly…enthusiastic, but Bloodhound hadn’t expected him to be. It was a strange thing to tell a child. They had thought, perhaps, an introduction over video call might work, but the day after they got back the internet had been kicked by a blizzard and was still out a week later. In the meantime, they hoped to introduce Elliot as a normal part of life through letter. “It’s one of the things Bjørn and I could agree on.”

“Oh, uh, cool,” he half stammered, glancing away. At one point they thought Elliot just didn’t want to hear a single mention of Bjørn, quite difficult considering they were Magnus’s other parent, but they’d figured out on their own he was just nervous to ask questions-because he always had them, dozens of questions, but when it came to an ex-spouse he seemed…hesitant.

Bloodhound appreciated the discretion, but tried not to hold back on mentioning things, to make it fair. If Bjørn was involved, they didn’t pretend they weren’t. Much as they wished otherwise sometimes.

“Did you pack?”

“Everything but tomorrows clothes and Artur’s bed,” they pointed their pen up at their first and most annoying son, who cawed from his bed as if he could read their mind. He probably could, honestly.

“Good I don’t wanna yell at you to pack in the morning.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“You kinda are,” he squeezed the back of their neck lightly, turning into a neck rub. He liked to randomly turn little touches into little rubs. Bloodhound hadn’t said it, but it made them melt. They were pretty sure he knew, just like they knew some part of him had to be touching them when they slept. It was a domesticity they hadn’t experienced in a decade. And Elliot was sweeter than Bjørn had ever been, but Bloodhound had never been particularly _sweet_ either, so they supposed they couldn’t complain on that front.

The last dinner with Evelyn was a little melancholy. Bloodhound had grown very fond of her-and of the sun and the garden and the relaxed breezy life in the suburbs. But for the two weeks back home, they’d spent the last three or so months there. They hadn’t even hunted, they wanted to, they meant to, but Allfather forgive them, they were taking in every moment they could with him, unmasked, almost normal. Their hair long. The day before they were leaving they sat in front of the mirror for an hour with scissors, staring at their hair. It’d never gotten so long in years, they’d missed it so much, and now…

_Later_, they decided.

The morning was rather uneventful, if bittersweet, as was the ride back. They and Elliot had decided to stay in their respective apartments and unpack; the first game of the new season was tomorrow. They needed rest.

But Bloodhound hadn’t slept alone in three months.

They tried, they really did, but their bed was unbearably cold. Their shelves almost bare, having stored their scrolls safely in case of total building collapse. The quiet was disturbing. Even Artur seemed off. Bloodhound reached out and scratched under his chin. “You miss him too, don’t you?”

He made small, almost protesting _wah, wah, wah_, noises. Bloodhound sat up, pulling the blanket with them, over their head. “I miss him, too. I think we have to admit defeat, _felagi_.”

Artur hopped around, flapping his wings before getting up on their shoulder.

They were in front of his door in a moment, knocking quietly, shifting on their feet. _Such a child. Can’t spend a day from him. Not even a day-barely 18 hours, counting the sleep you _could_ have if you could get a handle on yourself_. The door opened swiftly. He relaxed when he saw them, biting his lip. “You too?”

They exhaled, Artur hopping from their shoulder to Elliot’s head, and then inside. “Yeah…”

He smiled, lopsided, a charming little puppy smile, hair frizzy and half in his face. “We’re a couple of dummies, huh?”

They smiled. “Huge.”

Bloodhound, per the usual, woke up after Elliot, coming out to him making breakfast, and threw their blanket laden hands around him, kissing his naked shoulder and then resting their cheek there, taking his affectionate hip pat. Their mask was on the breakfast bar. The mask they’d packed in their bag, back in their apartment. “What is that doing here?”

He flipped the pancake with the pan, glancing over as it sizzled harshly. “I was making some last-minute tweaks to it.”

“Tweaks to my mask?” They leaned back, eyeing him.

“I promise it wasn’t anything major.”

They slowly pulled away, walking over to it and pausing. The leather base had been extended in the back, and the neck was…bigger? Wider? They looked at him, curious. He slipped the pancake onto a plate and came over, taking their hair-a bolt of dread going to their stomach, remembering what they had to do. He deftly pulled it into a bun. “Go on, try it on.”

They stared, slowly picking up the mask, running their finger pads over the leather. They’d always had to keep their hair short to fit into it. Had he really?... They started pulling the mask on; the wider neck didn’t catch on the bun, and when it was on fully, it felt about the same as it had before. They turned their head this way and that, looking up and down, then turned to look at him, at the little grin slowly spreading across his lips. The modulator did nothing to hide their shock. “My hair fits.”

“Yeah!” He was buzzing. “And it should keep fitting, y’know as it gets longer cause this new part, it’ll go down your coat and kinda make a space for a braid to go down your back without really looking any different, y’know? I know how much your hair means-and I mean I just-really I just re-sewed the neck and extended the back and-“

They pulled the mask off with one hand and brought him into a kiss by the shoulder with the other. They were going to cry. They were going to cry and it was all his fault. It was out before they could stop themself. “_Ek ann þér_.”

He blinked. They felt him brush a tear away-goddammit, they really were crying. They swallowed, the wings of a thousand ravens beating in their chest. His hands came to the sides of their face, cradling it, thumbs resting on their cheekbones. “W-what does that mean?”

They couldn’t swallow. They couldn’t breathe. But they put their hands over his and said firmly, without a single doubt, “_I love you_, Elliot Witt.”

His lip trembled; then his face cracked into the biggest grin they’d ever seen. His eyes had never been so full of light; he pulled them by the cheeks into a kiss, more of an excited smushing of mouths than anything, but when they broke he was laughing, throwing his head back like the happiest madman in the world, and then kissing them again, pressing them into the counter; they felt themself laughing into his lips, hooking fingers into the loops of his jeans, a crazy moment of frantic joy that ended with his forehead to theirs.

“I love you, Bloth,” he whispered, just to them, just for them. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

* * *

“Man, what the hell happened to that guy?”

Crypto raised an eyebrow, following X’s eyes to the upper left monitor, displaying the live feed of the recently resumed Apex Games. Mirage was sliding down a hillside, shredding a whole squad with a spitfire. He bit down a hum of interest, pretending to look at his screens, meanwhile screening the play over his optical implant. “He got a good gun.”

“No, no, he’s been _wrecking_. You’re the one with the weird techy shit, isn’t there some algorithm that can show a correlation? Like, did he get a dick transplant or something? Just has huge elephant balls now?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re crude.”

X flipped his hand dismissively, watching with interest as Mirage, back to back with Bangalore, downed another two opponents. The camera cut to Renee, dodging bullets, half falling behind a tree and pulling out a Phoenix kit, coughing up blood as she healed. Crypto had stopped looking at the screens. She dodged another shot, finishing her healing and then jumping off the edge, onto one of the buildings outside Bunker. She ran into the fray, attempting to retrieve the banners of her team. Mirage saw her, pulled out his Wingman, and got her downed with two headshots. Crypto winced involuntarily, almost jumping.

He found himself sending her a message: _Jalhaesseo. Hard game. _

He sent her something after every Game.

He didn’t know why.

“Hey, what’s up with the new girl? You check her stats?” X pointed at Wattson, who was blocking a Gibraltar bombardment with her little pylon.

“Yah, they’re good. She’s the one who made the ring.”

“Huh. Nepotism.”

“_Ani_. She has no family, went through the qualifiers that were implemented with the new system. Surprisingly un-corrupt thus far.”

“Mm. Speaking of new system, you hack it yet?”

“I’m working on it. It will take a while; you’re welcome to go.” X didn’t move, instead going back to watching the games. Crypto held in a sigh. _That means fuck off, man._ But a client was a client, he could watch the game all he wanted. Crypto went to his work in actuality now, typing code, watching it flit across the screen, backdoors and bad turns everywhere, digits running a mile a minute. He’d gone and done his (horrible) camping trip and, with Renee’s help, just because she offered, he’d gotten inside the labs and in the IMC computers, and had returned with what he needed. Now it was a matter of remasking his PC; it was not an off-site intruder, but an on-site Level 4 security clearance consol. Least, it would be.

His heart skipped a beat when a chime alerted him of Renee’s reply-a simple thanks. _Man, your nerves are getting bad. Lay off the caffeine, pabo._

Another chime startled him, but for a different reason-the mask had synched. He brought up the Syndicate database and input his passcode, a hum signifying his entrance into the system. “Bingo,” he whispered, glancing to make sure X hadn’t heard him. The man, only recently even giving him a “name” to call him, had been more annoying than previously. A little pushy, a little impatient, a lot of questions of how this and that worked, which made Crypto a little anxious. Anxiety led to failure, and failure in taking down an entire corrupt organization led to death.

He tried not to be anxious.

Mirage paused in the middle of a firefight. Crypto could see he was reloading, but his eyes were caught on Bloodhound, who had looked right at him and then aimed at a different enemy. It made him laugh internally-what an _odd_ couple. A hunter so mysterious even _he_ could find absolutely nothing on them, and the biggest blabbermouth idiot in the Outlands with so many posts on social media tracing him was less like following breadcrumbs and more like finding an orderly line of whole French loafs. Renee said he was pretty smart, and really sweet, but Crypto would only concede he was good with that Wingman.

He kept his fingernails away from his nervous mouth as he combed the database, X’s groans and occasional declarations of “_cmooooon!”_ ignored until he found it, the breadcrumb, an email from a terrain specialist talking about the “lava issue”. This led to the “ice issue” the “ring implementation issue” and, most interestingly, the “native issue”. He copied the necessary emails, X had a drive he kept pertinent details on, a sort of security thing-though Crypto had it all safeguarded to self-erase if needed, then nodded. “X, come take a look at this.”

He turned quickly, greasy hair falling into his eyes as he leaned over Crypto’s chair, mumbling as he read. “Shit, that’s a lot of deals to be making. Half the Outlands wants that territory.”

Crypto nodded. “Talos is a strange location to choose. Besides New Dawn, there hasn’t been a single other settlement. The terraforming is expensive.”

“Think they plan on mining it?”

“No, seems they have an agreement with the people living there. They don’t dig, the people don’t bother them. They also have a night-hunting agreement.” Crypto had never heard of people still _living _on Talos. “Everything is set to move this coming season.”

“Huh. So you’ll be going straight to Talos?”

He clenched his fists in his pockets, pressing his nails to his palm. “Yah. I’ll keep you updated. It could take a season or two.”

He huffed. “Two, really?”

“Rather weaken all the supports than just a few before we strike.”

X grumbled but relented, accepting his thumb drive and then straightening himself out-Crypto never understood why if the purpose was to look homeless. He supposed he was just too used to finer things, whomever he was. “Well,” he whacked him on the arm, not noticing how Crypto stiffened, “good luck on Talos.”

Crypto kept his lips pursed. “Yah. Good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also have a Tumblr where I take c*mmissions @ kittymsmithwritesstuff.tumblr.com
> 
> Regarding foreign languages: I generally do not use Google Translate, I mostly use language teaching sites like Korean101 and formes where native speakers have confirmed words themselves and their contexts, or I use historical/research sources and what I hope is an educated guess when needed, like in the case of Old Norse. 
> 
> Icelandic:
> 
> Amma - grandmother  
Afi - grandfather
> 
> Old Norse:  
Ek ann þér - I love you
> 
> Korean:  
Mapsosa - oh my god  
Jalhaesseo - good job, well done.  
Ani - no  
Pabo - idiot
> 
> So there it is y'all, this is the transitional point. Next chapter will be on Talos. I've been wanting to get a move on forever but I have so many fucking ideas that they get in the way of this thing called a plot-some shit just needs to be reserved for a one shot collection or something, so that there can be a semblance of coherence to this whole thing. 
> 
> I"m hoping it won't be moving too quickly, but I do have a better idea of what I want to do now (watch, I say that now and I'll be sitting here a month later just chanting "fuck fuck fuck" into a bottle of rum) so things might move a bit faster comparatively, now that BH and Elliot are done being stupid. Love em. 
> 
> Anyway THANK YOU ALL for sticking with this so long. I've had some serious issues with writing the past few years and this project was sort of a way for me to prove to myself that I can still finish something, I'm not washed up. The Apex AO3 community has brought me back like no other and I'm extremely thankful to everyone who's stuck around through my stumbles. I hope y'all stay healthy and have good times in face of the craziness rn. 
> 
> A'ight, I'mma shut up now. Peace.


	18. The Hunters of New Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot and Bloodhound get in a fight, so Elliot decides to go rock climbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE FOR RETURNING READERS*** There has been an alteration to the ending of this chapter, wherein the poem no longer exists. Unfortunately, it had to be slightly retconned. Don't worry, nothing else had to be edited in the fanfic, just that part. :)
> 
> Yo so in the endnotes beside the usual translation will be a bit on Icelandic naming practices and on what exactly a Viking mead hall would kinda look like. 
> 
> Anyway y'all readers are always lovely and I live for the comments and kudos, thank you so much <3
> 
> Keep in mind that most of Bloodhound's chapter (basically all of it past a certain point) they're speaking in their native language.
> 
> Without further ado, here's some stuff.

Talos was fucking cold.

Elliot did not like the cold. He was born and bred on a planet that rarely got below 75, discounting the desert nights. The outside was cold, the inside was cold, and his bed was cold, because he and Bloodhound had decided against requesting a shared dorm. It was too obvious, and far too likely to get word out. Bloodhound was still unsure about telling any of the other Legends. “It’s not like they’ll _see_ you,” he’d said with their head on his chest the night before they left.

“Yes but…it could spread from them,” they’d fussed, playing with his chest hair.

He’d wanted to press the issue-after three months back at the tower, in an actual relationship, he was getting a little tired of having to hide _everything_. Bangalore, Natalie, and Renee were the only ones that knew. Everyone else thought they were friends. But he didn’t, he just enjoyed his last night in his bed. The fight came two days into the new living arrangement, with Bloodhound being bullheaded and Elliot doing most of the yelling. “I just don’t fucking-I _get _it,” he said, shaking his hands in emphasis, “I get it’s a big fucking deal, but it’s a big deal to me too!”

“No.” They said.

“You won’t even give me a timeline! At least give me an idea!”

“No,” they said again, not meeting his eyes, arms crossed.

“God you’re being so stupid about this.”

“It’s a risk, Elliot! Not just to myself,” they held a hand to their chest, “to my family and my son.”

“You legally don’t exist, Bloth. Nobody is gonna find you. You don’t have a social security number, or an ID or – or anything-I’m not even sure how you got into the Games!”

“I just signed shit until they said okay!” They tossed their hands. “That’s it! That’s it!”

He took in a deep breath. “God – at least give me an idea of, of _when_.”

“_If_.”

“It’s not a goddamn _if_, Bloodhound! I’m not asking you to tell the public or the officials-to hell with them! I’m just asking to be able to call you _honey _outside of our rooms, to be able to touch you at all!” He was breathing hard; they’d been arguing for the better part of a half hour. “Look I know you’re nervous, but these are the same people that haven’t breathed a word of who Caustic really is or what really happened at the canyon-and they know, okay? They all know. They’re not gonna tell anyone.”

They pressed their lips in a thin line, glaring right at him. “I’m done talking about this.”

He snorted. “Oh, oh you’re done talking? Cause I’m right and you’re being unreasonable?”

“I’m done.”

“You just don’t want to admit that you might still need to crawl out of your shell and do this thing called _deal with people-_”

They whirled around, slamming their fist into the wall, rattling the contents of their shelves and sending Artur flying to the opposite side of the room. “I said I am _done_, Elliot!”

The stillness rang.

Elliot wasn’t aware how badly he was scowling. They had never argued like this-little bickering, yes, but he had never genuinely wanted to be away from them more. He knew better-Bloodhound could be nudged, not pushed. The moment they realized they were being pushed they would push right back, and they pushed hard.

Maybe he was being too insistent. They were terrified, not just stubborn.

But they’d been “official” for almost seven months and he was fucking _tired._

“I’m going out.”

That’s all he said.

He grabbed his coat and exited when he was sure no one was looking and walked down the hall, past the other Legends, straight past Renee whose words died on her lips. Right to the gate in the loading bay that led out to the planet. The guard peered at him from the booth, leaning out the window. “You’re not supposed to leave until tomorrow.”

“I need to walk.”

“I’m sorry Mirage I-”

“Look man, if you don’t open the gate, I’m gonna climb the goddamn thing.”

The guard’s eyes widened and he flipped the switch. Elliot had figured it out early on; if the guy that wouldn’t say shit if he had a mouthful starts cussing, people listened.

Outside was ball-shrinking cold, even in midday. How it was like that with the literal sea of lava surrounding World’s Edge, he didn’t know. But he didn’t care, he just needed to walk. The dropship was on a rock pillar (island?) connected to the mainland by a bridge. He weaved through workers handling deliveries, several glancing at him curiously. He made his way to the mainland, tiny ants of people setting up bins and balloons, slowly rising to the air like steam. Like Kings Canyon, World’s Edge was bordered by tall, flat-topped mountains at varying heights. Elliot walked along them on a path made for the workers making last-minute set ups.

His head cooled, literally and figuratively, he realized the argument was bound to happen. Bloodhound had opened up _immensely_ since they met, since they really became a _thing_, but the relationship was in no way normal. They rarely went out on Solace, and it was always his bar. He barely knew anything about their family beyond four sisters and an indiscriminate number of nieces and nephews. They snuck around everyone else like rodents to meet at each other’s places. They barely touched outside of their apartments, and they’d gotten antsy about any throwaway flirt he tossed their way in public, something he did to everyone. The most normal thing was game night with Renee and Bangalore on occasion. Sometimes they’d let their guard down around Natalie.

He loved them. He’d meant when he said it. But there had to be a point, a balance. Especially while they were both competitors in the Games.

He shouldn’t have yelled, he decided, going off the path, climbing the rocks that rose and fell, pillars that could have belonged to some kind of ancient culture but were just the result of incomplete terraforming. He’d broken first, and maybe he had every right, but yelling just made them pile on the defenses. They had kept a calm, even tone and he’d just yelled louder, yelled over them. He’d been frustrated and let it fester. That he regretted. The slam of their fist against the wall still rattled his bones.

He couldn’t decide if he’d apologize first or make them squirm. Be as stubborn as they were.

He came to a ledge and realized he had no idea where the fuck he was. When he looked back there was thick clouds laden over flat-topped cylinders. Ahead there seemed to be a field through the fog. He didn’t want to go back.

He went to the field.

It was dusted with small pink flowers, the fog so thick he had to bend over to see the color. He started picking them, working a daisy-chain together. He wasn’t even thinking now, just moving, doing, waiting for the anger to drip out.

That was, until he was flat on his back with a knife at his throat.

No, wait, a spear.

A woman above him, hair long and loose, blue lines painted from under her eyes to the bottom of her jaw, like rivers. She was speaking but he wasn’t hearing it, until he caught one word, something Bloodhound had called him earlier that day-

“_Hálfviti,”_ _Halfwit_.

What the _fuck?_ He threw up his hands, spear point slicing against his adams apple as he bumbled out, “_ég er vingjarnlegur!_”

The woman froze, glaring down at him a long moment before yelling behind her-if he heard right, she was calling them hunters. From the fog emerged four people, three women and man. One of the women had some kind of leather sack fastened at her shoulders and hips, and he realized there was a baby inside. The man stepped forward. They were all dressed in a menagerie of furs and modern clothing, metal panes that looked like they were torn off buildings fashioned into armor. He had blue paint along his cheek bones, a single dot on his chin. They all had blue paint. “_Þú talar tunga Óðins?_” _You speak Odin’s Tongue?_

“Ja, ja!” Blood was running in rivets down either side of his neck and he gasped when the spear finally moved away, clutching his hand over his neck.

The man spoke in English, his accent thick and familiar, voice full of shock. “How?”

“M-My lokna,” his lips were trembling, he was damp, he couldn’t feel his fingers. They were all staring at him as he slowly sat up. “My lokna taught me.”

“Strange.” He spouted off something at the women, too fast for Elliot to understand. “Who are you?”

“E-Elliot W-wuh-wuh-wuh-” he swallowed, “Elliot Witt. Or, or Mirage.”

“A Legend.”

“Y-yeah. Um…who, who are you?”

“The hunters of New Dawn.” He walked over, offering his hand, rough, callous, and huge, to Elliot, who took it. He lifted him up like a leaf. “This is our land. Your Syndicate made contract with us to use part of it.”

“Oh, I had no idea there were even people living here!”

“Most forget.” He looked at Elliot’s neck and paused. “Your lokna, can you bring them here?”

The blood had pooled at his collarbone and dried. “Y-yeah, yeah I can-I can bring them.”

“We are here every day. But you should leave now. The next hunter to find you might kill you.”

He nodded, slowly backing up. “Sure thing! I’ll, uh I’ll tell them you guys are uh, out here.”

The man nodded, he and the hunters joining the mist as Elliot came to the cliffs he’d hopped down without thinking how brutal it would be to climb back up again. His mind was not racing as much as it was numbly wondering what the fuck just happened. There was only one village in the Core or Frontier systems that spoke that one language, and those same people were here, and seemingly unphased running into some rando who also spoke their obscure language? People from a village Bloodhound claimed no one ever left? How did these people even _get _here if that was the case? God damn it, he’d have to ask Bloodhound. Provided he could get back before dark.

He’d left just before noon and hadn’t realized how long he’d been walking, or that the way there was more down than up, meaning the way back was a lot more ledge climbing than he wanted. He had to stop a couple times, and he may have stumbled on some ledges, jelly legged from exertion, managed to get a couple scratches from the privilege of being born Elliot Witt. He finally found the employee path, ignoring the stares of a couple headed in for the day. He reached the gate at sunset, the guard staring as he opened it.

He thought everyone would be at dinner, but when he got to the residential block, they were all gathered in the common area. Bloodhound’s head whipped around and before he could even process them moving, they were hugging him. He stumbled, hugging them back, seeing a mixture of wide eyes and “ah-hah” looks behind them. They pulled away and he almost fell, gripping their arm to steady himself.

“Where the _fuck_ were you?” Bangalore snapped. “You’ve been gone for _hours_.”

“Went for a walk,” he mumbled. The amount of guilt he was feeling right now was almost enough to send him to his knees.

“A fucking walk?”

He sighed, trying to think how to explain, how to apologize. Ajay came up first, tilting his head back. “Who cut you?”

“Ah, um, uh-did you guys know there’s people like, l-living here?”

“Yeah, natives or something.” Renee said. She was the only one to say anything.

“Yeah, well, I, uh, I went…a ways and ran into them-it’s fine it’s just a little cut-and they’re cool I just-it was foggy and…stuff.” He was being led as he walked, by Ajay and Bloodhound, and made to sit on one of the couches. “I, I’m sorry guys I really, I didn’t think I’d gone that far. I didn’t w-wanna worry anybody.”

“What the hell were you doing, billy-goating all over the hills?” Bangalore said.

“Uh, kinda.”

“What in the _hell _would possess you to do that?”

He was just aware of the rise of Bloodhound’s chest stuttering before they spoke, “we had a fight.”

Makoa glanced at the others. “So, you two _are_ a thing.”

Their grip on his arm was painful. The danglies on their mask absolutely unmoving. “Yes.”

“Since…when?” Octavio asked. Bloodhound looked like they might explode if they spoke. God, he felt guilty. _I got what I wanted, I guess. _

Still, he couldn’t help but be a little relieved. “Seven months.”

Bloodhound managed to nod.

“So that’s why you stopped coming to my parties,” Ajay commented, tilting Elliot’s head to quickly clean the cut. “You did a good job hidin’ it, I’ll give you that.”

“That’s what the fight was about,” Bloodhound muttered, much to Elliot’s surprise.

Makoa was the first to speak with a fatherly sort of reassurance, “don’t worry, bruddahs, nobody’s gonna know. Right, guys?”

There was a murmur of agreement. Natalie raised a hand, Elliot nodding to her. “Okay, can I say it now? You two are _so cute_.” Bloodhound stiffened slightly, looking away. Elliot bit down his grin but Anita had no such reservations, prodding them.

“Hey, I think you’re blushing under there, Hound.”

“You’re going to lose that hand, _felagi_.” They mumbled.

“Hey Witt, glad you’re safe. Even if you’re a dumbass.”

“Thanks. I think.” He shook his head. This was all weird, but it had worked out. After Elliot was confirmed not going to die in the next few minutes everyone started heading to dinner. Bloodhound dragged him to his jelly legs and into their dorm-the biggest, by virtue of paying a lot of extra money for it, having a whole bedroom off their windowed room, and a bathroom.

They undid their mask once inside, eyes slightly puffy. _Fuck, goddammit, sonofabitching whore. _They pulled off a glove, gazing at him before gently putting their hand on his cheek. He felt the tremor that ran through it against his skin. “You should take a bath.”

The bath was a tall square with a curtain at the end of a rectangular room. Every muscle was sore and wobbly as he made his way over, turning on, getting in, and sitting on the bench inside as the hot water slowly consumed him, inch by inch. He wanted to melt into it, become a stupid Elliot soup, cause soup didn’t feel guilt. He could hear the thud of Bloodhound’s gear hitting the floor and they came in wearing their underwear and a shirt. They looked at him a moment before coming to sit on the toilet seat with a sigh. “I was so worried.”

He stared at the faucet. “I’m sorry. R-really sorry I…literally I just kept walking and didn’t realize how far I’d gone. Seriously.”

“I believe you.” They reached, running their fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry for yelling, too.”

“You were frustrated.” They bit their lip. “You…were frustrated for a long time, weren’t you?”

“Last three months.” He felt like he could breathe again. “I was just tired, Bloth. Tired of it. I let it fester, and then I took it out on you. You’re a stubborn ass but I shouldn’t have yelled.”

They puffed air through their nose, almost a laugh. “I am an ass. And a recluse.”

He smiled a little. “Are you gonna be okay? I mean it’s over and done now but…I thought for a second you were going to pass out.”

“I almost did,” they admitted. He saw another tremor pass through their hands. “And perhaps I’ll have to dig into your…_stash_ but I will manage. A hunter always manages.”

“Oh, right! Hunters!” He turned to face them and started in on the tale of the people of New Dawn, Bloodhound’s attention completely drawn away from their anxiety, eyes wide and jaw slack. “And then I made my way back here. But, uh, uh I thought your village was the only one that spoke Odin’s Tongue, wasn’t it? Like, what are the chances?”

A signature long pause followed that, and Elliot was afraid for a moment that Bloodhound had gone into shock. He reached out and touched their face and they seemed to snap out of it, brow furrowed. “I…I can’t believe they’re alive.” Bloodhound cleared their throat, launching into their own tale. “New Dawn was a portion of my village-we used to be bigger, almost five-hundred people. But when I was a baby our winters were so long and harsh we had begun to die, some believed it was the coming of Ragnarok; so a group decided it was time to move. Establish a new village in the Frontier, if for no other reason than to lighten the burden on everyone at home.” They ran their fingers absentmindedly through the water droplets on the rim of the tub. “One-hundred and fifty people left, men, women and children. They found work here and planned to save until they could buy land, bring the Gods here, send resources back. But after a few letters they just…vanished. I found out what happened when I joined IMC as a teenager. I thought they were…all dead.”

He ran his tongue along his lip. “They said they want to meet you.”

“They weren’t going to get much of a choice in that matter.” Bloodhound smiled slightly, looking almost excited. “We’ll go after they introduce the new Legend. I don’t think they’ll let you out again after the state you turned up in.”

He chuckled, looking off. Bloodhound kissed his temple. “I’m getting food. Keep soaking, _hálfviti_.”

He breathed deeply, closing his eyes as they left. “I know what that means now, y’know.”

“Oh, I know.”

* * *

They were impatient, arms crossed with everyone else as they waited for the new Legend to be introduced. They’d sent word to their mother immediately and had received a long letter of names the next day, and now they were stuck waiting on the new Legend to show their face before they could put to rest the hearts of so many in the village. _Gods, could things not move faster?_ Natalie had been easy, hardly an introduction, a lovely little party they’d actually attended. Normally they made a point of being polite and offering assistance to “the new guy”, but right now they couldn’t give less of a shit about him, even if he came with a bucket of water from the Norns well.

So of course, it was fokking Taejoon.

They choked when he came out in that jacket he never took off, barefaced to everyone on the team, using his _normal business name_ as his pseudonym. They delayed their leaving, much to Elliot’s confusion, and waited until Taejoon left his dorm, cornering him in a dark part of the many halls, away from cameras. He eyed them, not saying a word, stiff, likely ready to throw his drone at any moment.

They unclipped their mask and lifted it, giving him a pointed look. His jaw dropped. “You’re Bloodhound?” He whispered.

“What other Icelandic hunter do you know running around with a raven, Taejoon?”

He made a cutting motion across his neck, cheeks tinting pink with embarrassment. Really, they honestly thought he’d figure it out by now. “I am Hyeon Kim. 24 years old from Solace City.”

They snorted. “24?”

“No need to be rude.”

“At least go for 28.”

He rolled his eyes. “I thought you were on Leviathan?”

“A time ago. Allfather called me here.” They leaned back on their heels, tapping the mask back into place. “But you, you hate these Games.” Something dawned on them. “Wait, you’re not-”

“I’m working on it,” he said at half volume.

“Tae-Crypto…”

“Do you truly care? About the Games.”

They’d had this conversation many a time with him, though before they’d been a competitor. They thought a moment before they spoke. “I care about the people here.”

“They’re monsters.” Slowly, they gestured at themself, angling their head enquiringly. Then, when he didn’t respond, they gestured to him. He looked at their hand and sighed. “I am only doing what I have to.”

“You always are,” they agreed, stepping back, signaling their close. “Just do not think it isn’t the same for everyone else, too.”

“I hate when you do that.”

They smiled beneath the mask. Taejoon, for all his brilliance, was still as rash as a teenager in some ways. They left him to the corner and lent themself to Elliot, both able to leave freely now that Crypto had been introduced. Elliot took them on the long trek he’d gone on, somehow on accident. It was nearly grueling, even for them, and the fact he was doing it again was either a sign that their nagging about his abysmal cardio was working or that he was as interested in the encounter as they were.

They reached an incline into a foggy field and climbed down. It was so thick they could not see more than a couple paces ahead of them. They were half tempted to use their tracker, cast out the infrared and highlight anyone hiding in the fog, but if these people were truly who they thought they were, it would only prompt them to fight. Elliot took their hand and cupped his other around his mouth. “Hey, guys? Uh, New Dawn people? It’s me, that guy you almost killed a couple days ago? I brought my lokna!”

They heard the shift in the grass, instinctually pulling Elliot closer to their side. Another shift, so quiet they almost missed it, and then there they were, a man and a woman, blue paint resembling the old tattoos, the kind Bloodhound only saw on the especially devout. The man was tall, imposing and brickish, a bit like Bjørn. The woman seemed very similar, a sister or young aunt.

“Þú ert hans lokna?” The man asked. The spear he held was taller than him, the tip fashioned of sharpened sheet metal.

“Ja.” They wet their lips before unclipping their mask.

The man watched them carefully, speaking again in Odin’s Tongue. “You are from the Northern Village?”

Rather than answer verbally, they undid their coat and pulled down their shirt enough their tattoos showed. The man and woman’s eyes both widened, and they leaned in. “Allfather’s Ink,” the woman whispered. “I’ve never seen it on someone so young.”

They let go of their shirt, gripping Elliot’s hand. The situation was so astronomically insane they didn’t know what else to do but react like it weren’t. They hoped they’d taught him enough to understand the conversation. “We thought you were all dead.”

“Nearly,” the man said. “The blast at Epicenter killed half of us.”

“We were only children,” the woman said. “I am Ásta, this is my brother Dalli.”

They nodded, thinking they had read those names on the list, which they pulled out. “My mother – she sent this, a list of all the names. People at home, they want to know who survived. And I think I speak for everyone in saying we want to know why you didn’t come back.”

Dalli nodded, looking eager. “Ja, ja, of course-but let us take you to the village! Probably better Artur explains it all, anyway.”

Artur, the raven, made himself known at that moment, landing on Bloodhound’s shoulder. The siblings stared. “His name is also Artur,” Bloodhound supplied.

“He’s beautiful,” Ásta murmured, reaching out to pet until Artur nearly bit her finger off before hopping onto Elliot’s shoulder. Elliot scratched him under the chin. Ásta looked rather put out. Nonetheless Dalli led them all through the fog, down a rocky path that Bloodhound navigated with Elliot’s hand on their back, to keep together. After what must have been a half hour they emerged from the fog above a small valley, surrounded by flat-topped cylinders like World’s Edge, with a village with surprisingly familiar turf houses, half buried in the earth, many of the roofs flush with the ground below. There were cultivated fields, stables and a couple barns to the far side.

“It looks almost like home,” Bloodhound noted.

“There’s very few trees here.” Dalli shrugged, Ásta having already moved down the incline, shouting Bloodhound’s arrival. “So, it was not a huge adaption.”

“That’s a goat on a roof,” Elliot said in English.

“Yes dear, they do that.” They responded in kind. The ones at home weren’t usually so low anymore, but Bloodhound had seen their fair share of farm animals on roofs. Clasping his hand, they descended into the village, seemingly just about everyone gathering as they came. In a flash they were surrounded, by people in shock, in tears, asking if they were really from the village, if they had seen this ones sister or that ones husband, if their children were alive and healthy, had the people even survived those winters, had Ragnarok come? (the last one they thought a rather stupid question).

Before they could even try to calm the people down, a man appeared-tall and lean, but muscular, hair a faded blonde and eyes an intense blue, set deeply in a face lined by a long but hard life. Elliot seemed to be entranced, while Bloodhound simply nodded at him when he came and gently took the trembling hand of an old woman from their arm. “_Takk_.”

He nodded, examining them a moment before rather suddenly, but gently, taking their chin between his thumb and forefinger. The hard line of his mouth softened, and when he spoke, his voice was light, unmatching to his figure. “Eyþrúður Ragnarsdóttir?”

They stiffened unintentionally. They could see the surprise in Elliot’s eyes. “Once. I am Blóðhundur. Who are you?”

He moved his hand quickly, though they could see it was shaking. “Artur Einursson.”

The realization hit them. “Uncle Artur.”

* * *

Renee placed her portal after dinner, stepping inside, not the void but the place between, where she could see the walls around her in a brackish blue, and walk straight through the privacy walls Crypto had put up and emerge in his room. He didn’t even start at her arrival. “What. The hell. Are you doing?”

He turned in his chair. “Coding?”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“But _nuna_, that would just make me an ass if I wasn’t.” She glared; he cleared his throat. “I meant to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He hesitated. “I didn’t think you’d like it.”

“Well you’re right, I don’t, because you hate these Games and if you’re here that’s not a good thing for most everybody else.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped and turned back around, toward his screen. Renee knew by now he wasn’t actually doing anything when he clacked on the keys. “I’m not going to hurt any of your stupid friends.”

Renee pursed her lips and backhanded him in the head.

“Ow!” He turned, indignant.

“Don’t call my friends stupid,” she jabbed his shoulder. “You’re one of them, asshole.”

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, sighing. “Look, it’s not happening overnight and I’m not targeting the Games themselves, alright? I’m going after the Syndicate.”

She glanced around; most of the room was taken up by screens and desk, a couch along the wall that could be separated where it covered an open doorway to a room that barely fit a double bed. She sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “You’re going to tell me exactly what is happening, Hyeon. Though I’m guessing that’s not your real name.”

“It’s not.” He turned to her. He looked really unsure about something, and a whisper among the chatter in her head suggested it wasn’t just whatever plan he had to take out the Games. He slumped with an exhale. “Here’s the plan.”

* * *

“He’s a handsome boy,” Artur, the human, said in their native tongue, handing the photo back to Bloodhound. “You said Geirdís Jonsdottir is his grandmother, so, Bjørn. I’m guessing it didn’t work out.”

“Was it the involuntary wince?”

He laughed. “The way you hold yourself at the name. Shame, thought they’d shape up to be half decent.”

“They are,” they admitted, somewhat begrudgingly. “But our marriage was a bad call.”

“So was mine. And the second, and the third…” He glanced off, to a handsome man with graying hair at the other end of the mead hall. “Fourth hasn’t ended in flames.”

“Mamma always said you had bad luck in love.”

“Nei, bad taste.” He nodded toward Elliot, who was in the middle of the banquet hall in a space between the dozens of low tables, sitting on a pillow while a half dozen children played with his hair and curiously tried to rub the “dirt” off his skin while he stumbled through answers to their questions in broken Odin’s Tongue. “You, though, have good taste.”

“Did we not just discuss my failed marriage?”

“Talk to me when you have three, Hundur.” They laughed. The mead made their cheeks hot and rosy. “But really. I like him.”

“I’m glad you do,” they said, breathing deeply.

“Nervous to bring him home?”

“Terribly.”

“Ack, it’ll be fine. My sister has always been ahead of the times, and so has your father, even if he grumbles about it. He still grumbles, doesn’t he?”

“Constantly.”

“Good. If Ragnar isn’t grumbling he’s not well.” Artur examined his mug, fashioned from the metal siding of the buildings in Worlds Edge, like many of the items in the village, and downed the rest of his mead. It amused them how little he looked like their mother-she was dark eyed and dark haired and had a slightly darker complexion, whereas Artur was the exact opposite. They’d never believed her before when she said how much they looked like him.

“Mamma will be glad to know you’re alive,” they said softly.

He glanced over, nodding at their list. “She is lucky, I suppose. I had not thought of many of those names in years, _dúlla._ I’d almost forgotten how many of us were lost to that damnable machine.” He lifted his mug as a woman walked by, thanking her when she filled it. She filled Elliot’s mug too, but soon as she did so the children began to swarm it like bees and Elliot had to hold it high above his head, eventually prompting a father to spawn from somewhere and admonish the children. “Those damn MRVNs were operating it, you know? A malfunction in the software. Ten seconds and one hundred and three of us were gone. 14 lok, 29 women, 39 men,” he sighed, “and 21 children.”

Bloodhound felt a pit form in their stomach, thinking of Magnus. “Artur…why didn’t you come back? Or write?”

He knocked back about half the mug of mead before shoving it aside. “We couldn’t. To get here we signed a contract with IMC-or rather, I signed it. I was the only one to know any English then. But I was…was an idiot,” he sighed, face pitted with shame, “I didn’t read it all-I had so many people, and we needed food and shelter and…I signed without seeing the clause, that in event of disaster to IMC operations, the contract was void. They gave this to everyone. When it all happened, they had a second contract, and that one meant we joined their army and fought on the front lines, in addition to being contracted to work at minimum seven years.”

“Cannon fodder,” Bloodhound whispered.

“Precisely. I refused. They left us here. With no communication, no way out-they came back three times, but would never help us unless we signed the contract. So, we stayed here. Eventually they stopped when the war did, and we became mostly forgotten. An odd company or two has visited, tried to strike deals, but it never…worked.” He looked at them, placing a rough, thick-fingered hand over theirs. “I gave up, after a while. I regret it Hundur-all the people here have missed so much back home. I miss your mother and father, my friends, all those left behind. I missed seeing you and your sisters grow,” he stopped, taking a shuddering breath. Bloodhound gripped his hand tightly.

“Do not apologize, Uncle Artur,” they insisted, quietly. “You’ve done what you needed to. Even with Allfather’s guidance we become lost. Perhaps it was fate you bring those around you strength enough to move when the time came.”

He glanced them over, a hand over his heart, “you speak like a cleric.”

They gave him a smile. “I attempt to. But let us speak seriously-we can get you home.”

He froze, eyes wide like he’d heard the words of the Gods directly. He squeezed their hand. “You can?”

“It will take time, but yes. How many are there in the village?”

“A little over a hundred.”

“Then I’ll send word to my mother. We can figure out what all will be needed.” Artur nodded as Bloodhound continued, the two of them lining out details; housing needs, who likely had a home waiting for them and who did not, whether or not the current crop-yield could support all the extra people and how much more to plant, and the more immediate matter of getting writing utensils and paper to the people of the village so they may write their loved ones-and, if Bloodhound could secure it, a set of tools and Allfather’s Ink, as there were two surviving tattooists and many young tribe members who dreamed of having the decoration they only saw on elders.

Elliot eventually sidled up to them and they hooked arms with him, not breaking from the discussion as Artur’s husband, Sigfrøðr, and a half dozen other elders made a circle around them, suggestions for supplies, travel methods and otherwise being tossed around well into the night, until the paper was hard to see under dim lantern light and the chill bit at exposed skin. Bloth’s fingers ached from writing, bouncing back to the shape made when gripping a pencil, and their knees hurt terribly. It was at this point everyone finally agreed to go to bed.

Sigfrøðr helped Artur up, then offered his other hand to Bloodhound, who took it gratefully, joints popping in places they never used to. They all looked down at Elliot, who had fallen asleep curled around them. Someone had thrown a blanket on him. “Isn’t he adorable,” Sigfrøðr said.

“Very. And also heavy,” Bloodhound mumbled the last part, leaning down to pat him. “Elliot, Elliot dearest.” They settled for a light slap on the cheek, rousing him enough to blink open his pretty brown eyes and squint at them.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes dear.”

“Shwat….shwaaat time is it?”

“Very late.” He slowly sat up, shivering and pulling the blanket tightly around himself before standing. They followed Sigfrøðr and Artur to a tent-the exact same style Bloodhound and Fiak had used hunting, though the vent was closed for warmth. Bloodhound hugged Artur, he and Sigfrøðr biding them goodnight, Sigfrøðr mumbling a little excitedly when he thought they were out of earshot, “isn’t that one _cute?_”

Inside was warm, two large rugs, likely scavenged, between them and the dirt, a bed of furs in the middle of the low light. Artur, the bird, had already nested in a fur to the side of the bed. Elliot crawled in-between the furs before pulling off his clothes-man could hardly stand to sleep any way but naked. Bloodhound finally removed their gear, stretching their stiff joints before snuggling down, becoming the little spoon, Elliot snuffling into their neck, drawing out a small giggle.

“This is wild,” he whispered, voice sleep thick. “We’re sleeping in a pile of furs in a tent with a bunch of family you didn’t know was alive.”

“Wild,” they agreed, limbs becoming heavy as exhaustion began to weigh on them. “I…want to stay here, until we have to go back.”

“Absolutely.” He pressed his lips softly to their shoulder, the arms over them warm, dead weight. “Send Artur with a letter so nobody thinks we died.”

They hummed in agreement, eyes closing to sleep. At least, they were pretty sure they were asleep.

Their limbs were heavy, they breathed a rhythm they could feel pressing itself out against Elliot’s hand on their chest. They were asleep.

But they wore armor, light and leather, like that that was worn millenniums ago, and stood on black water. Every movement they made was slow and their body was unfocused, existing in a place it should not. From the black water came two wolves, their heads level with Bloodhound’s chest. They wanted to say it, but it felt like a bubble of water was in their mouth.

_Do not worry,_ spoke one wolf, though they could not comprehend whether it was Geri or Freki.

_You will not see us yet,_ said the other. Neither moved their mouths.

A glint in the blackness appeared above their heads, and Bloodhound saw them, ravens, and knew they were Huginn and Muninn. They could not tell which was which between them, either. They breathed in, sucking in water, but they didn’t choke. The ravens moved from the shoulders of the wolves, to them, becoming larger and larger as they traveled over a few yards as if it were miles. Their talons dug into their shoulders, and they weighed the same as mountains. They stood well over their head, yet somehow each leaned so their cold beaks touched their ears, and whispered.

They would not remember what they said when they woke up.

They would barely remember the dream. 

But they were left with a feeling, as they had so many a time before-before they left, before Magnus, and before the Games. A peculiar feeling, of santity and trepedation, because they knew, in some way, something was going to happen. And there was nothing they could do to stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Icelandic/Old Norse  
ég er vingjarnlegur - I'm friendly, in Elliot's case said with a lot of desperation.  
Þú ert hans lokna - you are his lokna?  
dúlla - cutie, sweetie/sweetheart, from the source I had it is used between lovers but like most languages, context dictates the meaning-this case, Artur is just being sweet to his  
Korean:  
Nuna-a more casual female friend who is older than you - Korean have a lot of different words for friends and they all depend on age and how close you are to them. Or how close you feel you are to them...
> 
> SO ABOUT ICELANDIC NAMING PRACTICES  
Icelanders don't just have last names-your last name is denoted by your father's first name and your gender; ie you're a son of Jon or Magnus, your name is Jonsson or Magnusson, a daughter would be Jonsdottir or Magnusdottir. It's really simple and effective naming when your country has approximately 2 people. (I love Iceland)
> 
> *UPDATE REGARDING NAMES: Iceland has officially come out with a gender neautral naming option ending in -bur, which means child. So Bloodhound would be Bloodhound Ragnarrsbur. Yeet.
> 
> Also about the mead hall thing. Basically a Viking longhouse, but since there's not a lot of wood on Talos, like practically nothing, the mead hall/longhouse they're in in the chapter is basically the frame with a roof on it and a shitload of low tables because, again, wood and other materials are scarce, why make one big table when you have many small? Part of the reason they were all freezing their asses off. Also imagine open fires that I forgot to write in. Anyway. 
> 
> Thats it I think lmao


	19. Nothing Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crypto and Renee pursue a lead on Gridiron, Elliott gets a letter from his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for the delay. I had a lot to debate on this chapter and also ended up having some wrist issues that meant I had to stop writing for about two days. This chapter is a lot more Crypto and Renee centric and it was honestly pretty fun to write something a little different. Variety, y'know? But of course we have Bloth and Elliott as well. And yes, I'm trying to get in the habit of using two T's because people genuinely have issue with that and uh, fuck it. 
> 
> I have a tumblr where I post updates about fic, like the whole wrist thing, @kittymsmithwrites as well as headcannons and other stuff. Also shoutout to @lightupthisuniverse on tumblr for helping with a critical choice in this chapter, and concerning the whole fic really
> 
> And thanks to you lovely kudo-er and review-ers! They really help keep me going. 
> 
> Alright, on with the show!
> 
> oh wait ps if you look at the art of Mirage in the bar where he's flirting with the girl, he has a beard ponytail. This will be relevant in the chapter.

He was going to make his nails bloody if he wasn’t careful. Chewing the skin off the sides would be even worse, but he did it anyway. Renee had been so, so quiet when he told her exactly what was going down. And it had been _exactly _what was planned: a collapse of the Syndicate, with most of their monetary assets going to X, who planned to disappear with them, and the rest going to himself. He wasn’t going missing; on the contrary, he intended to buy a place in Suotamo, near Mystik, and try to have a life again. Most enemies he made outside of the Syndicate were dead or not a big enough threat to worry himself with, once he shed the shroud of Crypto.

But the quiet, goddamn that quiet, it was eating at him. She hadn’t said a word. She’d sent him a text with her implant, her typing so good now he hadn’t even noticed the movement in her eyes. _I need to think._ And then she’d made a portal and left. He might have just ruined the whole plan, the whole goddamn thing-over what? A member of the very thing he wished to destroy.

He should have her dead by now, but he didn’t. Hell, he should have never helped her-or when he did, leave it at that. Let her come and go on his terms as a business associate. Not fix her up when she fell through his ceiling. Not bring her dinner then-and especially not keep having dinner with her after that, multiple times a week for months. Not watch movies, sometimes, if the files she’d collected were going to take a while_._ Not let her visit so often he no longer jumped at the sound of her portal, didn’t reach for the gun at his hip at the thump of her foot on his metal floor.

He spent precious time from the big plan and his commissions to watch her Games, to text her after. He’d send her videos that he thought she’d like. He’d sent her pictures of his cat, too. He never sent anyone pictures of his cat.

He looked at his hands, the stump of his nails. He remembered Jaime-Bloodhound, they preferred that, now that he knew. Bloodhound, the mighty hunter, his once upon savior, his semi-frequent contact. A friend, even, wiser than him in so many ways. “_Do you truly care? About these Games.”_

And he could hear the smile as they said, _“I care about the people here.”_

He spread his fingers out, they were thin, rosy knuckles. Bright irritated skin around the nailbeds. He thought of someone else with as bad of a habit. The realization did not hit him like a truck but crept upon him, a chill turned shaky warmth spreading through his veins like vines. _I care about them too. _

A few of them, at least.

* * *

Elliot was fascinated with the village. Bloodhound said it was different from home, much warmer (a concept which scared his shivering ass), more grass. But the people dressed as similarly as possible with what they could get from the land around them. He watched Dalli skin a deer, listened to him speak Odin’s Tongue, learned the word for “animal hide” (_dýrahúð_) and watched Ásta carve a bow. “It is for my niece,” she told him.

“That’s awesome,” he responded, or at least the equivalent. He’d taken to Bloodhounds language pretty well and knew that even if he didn’t quite say it right, he got the idea across. Bloodhound was having much more difficulty with Spanish, but they had improved. “How old is she?”

“Seven.” A long, paper-thin strip of wood fell from the tool she was using. He picked it up, touching the slightly tacky surface. “In the home village she would have one younger, about four, but there are so few trees here we must wait. She will have this bow until she is fourteen, fifteen. Then she will get another, which she’ll have all her life.”

“That’s amazing.” He wished he had a bow and arrow as a kid. He’d had a baseball bat, his dad’s old Louisville Slugger. He’d chase his brothers with it…maybe it was a good thing he didn’t get a bow.

“Your lokna has not told you about the tradition?”

He shook his head. “Nah. They’re…” he looked off, where Bloodhound was leaning over the only tall table in the village with Artur and half a dozen elders, “well, they’re really private, nobody in the Frontier knows who they are and they’ve been running around like this for over a decade so it’s kind of a process getting anything out of them.”

“Sounds like an unstable foundation for a relationship.”

He made a so-so sign. “We’ve had our moments. But I think it’s pretty solid now-like they’re aware it’s a problem and we’re...working on it. They said they’re going to take me to their home for Yule.”

Ásta looked at him at an angle. “Their family is a big deal. Are you worried at all?”

“Depends on what you mean by a big deal.”

“Well, Artur says his sister is a runekeeper, and she and Ragnarr are both ravenkeepers. _And_ they are masters of seidr.” He blinked and she muttered something he didn’t quite catch. “It’s a big deal. All that importance in one family-and now Bloodhound has a raven, and that’s a big deal, too, though I don’t know that much about it…”

He was about to ask more when he saw Bloodhound approach with a pack on their back. They had their mask on but were otherwise dressed in the clothes everyone else was wearing-a long, fur lined tunic, pants and boots and fingerless gloves. He stood, wearing in the clothes he’d come there in three days ago, but, uh, washed. Daisey chain bracelets from all the kids he’d somehow ended up babysitting almost tumbled off his wrists. “Ready to go, babe?”

Their sigh was more pronounced through the respirator. “Ja. Everything is set in motion, now it is just a matter of mailing letters and ordering paper. So, we should go quickly.”

He smiled sympathetically-he’d enjoyed his time in the village thoroughly, but he was ready for home; Bloodhound, however, had been so at ease he knew they would hate to go. He took their hand, wished Ásta the best, and walked to give one last goodbye to Artur and Sigfrøðr, both of whom seemed as pained as Bloodhound at the separation. He nearly told them to go ahead and stay, fuck the Syndicate, but a disappearance would only prompt a search.

So, they left.

Quiet, huffing their way across the mountains. Returning a bit muddy and thoroughly tired. Elliot felt a great relief in simply walking in their room with them, not having to scurry like a rat around corners. They got in the shower together, leaning on each other, Bloodhound under the water first and then him, at which point they loosely wound their arms around him and rest their head on his chest. Water spluttered over his shoulders in mini streams. “I love you,” they mumbled.

“I love you too,” he said, idly rubbing their back.

They sat on the floor later because Bloodhound had opted for a tri-cornered hammock instead of a normal bed for some fucking reason, with large furs as cushions. He was brushing their hair, shirtless, in a pair of Bloodhound’s boxers that were just a little too small, thinking in the quiet. Questions came so easily now, and unlike just a few months ago, he was reasonably sure to get an answer. “Hey babe, what’s seidr?”

They made a noise of surprise in the back of their throat. “Why do you ask?”

“I was talking with Ásta and she said your parents were into it.” They sighed, so he continued. “Said your whole family is kind of a big deal back home.”

They groaned, slumping forward until he tugged them back so he could finish their hair. “Ah, they…well, I guess I must admit they-we-oh, whatever, yes. My family is a mite…important. But it is not like we are wealthy. We are just old and trusted. As for the seidr…it focuses on weaving new events into fate, or changing its direction altogether; it can curse the land and the sea or bring a bounty for ten-thousand men, it is used to seek out the hidden, control the weather, bringing good luck, divination, clairvoyance-it has many applications. You would call it witchcraft.”

A bit bewildered, he said, “what would you call it?”

“Seidr. It _is_ magic, Elliott, and I don’t want to debate on its legitimacy.”

Elliot shrugged his shoulders, twisting the end of their braid around his finger to make it curl. “Alright, I won’t debate with you. But, I mean, how does it work? Are your folks just,” he wiggled his fingers, “magical?”

“Anyone can practice it, really, but some are seen to have a knack, like with art.” They reclined into him, making him pull in a nearby book crate for support, cleaning their nails. It made it easier for them to talk if they didn’t have to make eye contact, sometimes. He played with the baby hair around their temples. “My parents both have that _knack_, though it is, it’s really beyond that they are…_very_ good, Elliott. My father especially, which is considered uncommon-seidr is a womans magic, and men who perform it are seen as _argr_. Unmanly. It’s a horrible insult. I mean _bad._”

Elliott knit his brow, gently twisting the delicate hair around his fingers, making curly-cues. “How does that fit with the whole lok thing? And the gender fluidity and stuff.”

“It is a belief straight from the realm of the Gods-Odin is a patron of seidr, and even he is mocked for being _argr_, so it has, ah, carried. But lok born with male anatomy are not judged in the same way-they are neither man nor woman, so nothing can be said, and fluidity is in a similar, ehm, gray area, as is anyone who transitions, though transitioning from female to male has a hypocritical lack of _argr_ accusations, sometimes..” They shrugged, stretching their feet out with a resounding crack from either knee. “But still, Pabbie practices and people come to him. Hypocrites.” They said this with some bite.

“Mm. That whole _argr_ thing is total bullshit.”

“It is.” They tilted their head back, looking at him and reaching up to brush their fingers softly against his beard. “I apologize if anyone calls you it.”

He was, well, a little offended. “Why would they call me that?”

“You’re lean and your beard is short. And your eyes are too pretty.”

He snorted. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. You could grow it out if you want, about here,” they held their hands a few inches from his face with a teasing smile. “Long as you promise not to do that weird ponytail thing.”

“It was not _weird_ it was a _style._”

“It’s a style if you have a few feet of beard, not a few inches.”

He started inching his hands up their sides, Bloth’s hands darting to his and holding them down. “I can and will tickle you, dear hunter.”

“I can and will punch you in the nose!”

“Not if I hold your hands down.”

“But then you can’t tickle me either.” He got a devious grin, watching Bloodhounds eyes widen as he uncrossed his legs, letting their head thumb onto the furs, and held their hands above their head. “Don’t you dare you monkey toed cretin!”

Oh, he dared. He started tickling their sides with his toes and they squealed, wiggling violently and cursing him, laughter bubbling up between the blubbering profanity as they pulled desperately, but he could easily transition from tickling with his toes to holding down their legs and clasping his hands with theirs, tickling their belly through the spaces of their fingers with no mercy, making them a squealing, writhing, red-faced mess. _Ha, if anyone can hear this they’re probably thinking we’re doing something completely different. _“Elliott,” they gasped, “please!”

“Please what?” He leaned over them, letting his tickles travel to their sides again.

“S-stop!” They wheezed, trying to roll away, tearing up and laughing.

“What is it we say-“

“Uncle!” He dropped their hands and stopped tickling immediately, grinning down at them as they wiggled away, slapping their hands over their sides and cursing him horribly. They rolled over to catch their breath and whacked his knee, which only served to make him laugh. “I hate you! That’s unfair!”

“I thought you loooooved me,” he pouted.

“Shithead, bastard, asshole,” they crawled up to him, between his legs and then pressing him down, against the furs, “bitch, fokker. Allfather smite you!” And they tried it, to tickle him again. But it was a fruitless endeavor and they knew it: Elliot didn’t have a ticklish bone in his body. He’d developed an immunity, as he liked to think of it, thanks to his brothers. “Fokking fokk!”

“Wow, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” He slid his hands up to rest on their butt.

“Every day. Asshole.” They squeezed his cheeks together, so he made a fishy face, smirking slightly. “Fish face.”

He made kissy noises and they rolled their eyes. But they leaned down and kissed him, releasing his cheeks. Let him slide his hands under their nightdress, over the expanse of naked skin, peppered with a storybook of scars. He pressed his thumb over an area on the back of their hip, eliciting a muffled squeak, then moved on, pressing into the areas along their spine where their back would ache, rubbing circles with the heels of his palms. Feeling the tension spread out, watch their shoulders relax, feel it in their back until they eventually flopped, face resting against his neck. Their breathing slowed, steady and deep. Asleep.

He kept rubbing, staring at the ceiling, thinking of little more than the warmth of their breath against his skin.

* * *

After not hearing it for a week, the pop of Renee’s portal appearing behind him brought on a sigh of relief. He turned, seeing a woman who seemed far less keen on being in his presence, glaring down at him-a funny thing, considering it was only possible when he was sitting. He didn’t say anything, afraid she’d blip out of existence like she did in the ring. “I went to the facility on Gridiron,” she said finally, sitting on the couch that blocked off his bedroom. “The entire planet is crawling with ex-IMC and the facility is currently being used for civilian titan manufacture. They’re offering tours of it, of the containment rooms.” Her lips drew tightly around her teeth and her fists clenched. She had Band-Aids on her fingertips.

“Fucking tours. Calling the people that went through the experiments for their “theoretical bio-weapons”, a friendly way of saying “stupid dangerous shit that we pinky promise not to use on anybody except we totally fucking did”, calling them volunteers. Goddamn volunteers. They were hapless, desperate bastards, prisoners or patients, or idiots-“ She stopped, sucking in air through her teeth. “Point is I went through and got a voice. There’s something important there. Some Renee, an older one, went through there and found something that we need. But I can’t get in. It’s a fully functional facility. The easiest thing to do would be to send in your drone using my portals. She has a camera scrambler attached to her, doesn’t she?”

“Yah.” He almost didn’t know how to speak to her now. He wasn’t sure if she hated him or was just mad at him. “But she needs my optical implant to run.”

“I know, dumbass.” That broke the tension a little, both relaxing. “We’d go together, on a weekend. It’s a day trip so we’d have to spend the night, but there’s a hotel that’s off the radar.”

“If I bring my laptop I can probably go through whatever data we get at the hotel.”

“Is that safe so close to ex-IMC stuff?”

He snorted. “I’m not afraid of anything on Gridiron. They’ve got the same security as the dropship, and I can get out of this place with a fridge magnet.”

“Wait, really?”

“Oh yeah. Doesn’t alert the system either.”

“Hm. Okay. This weekend, Gridiron?” She stood.

“Yah.” His tongue was dry, but somehow, he forced out, “do you want to get-“

“I’m still mad at you.” The cutoff felt like a knife, and it took all he had not to wince. “You’re doing something crazy for no reason I can see, and you won’t tell me why.”

He had to be crazy. He had to be. No sane person said this: “What if I told you why?”

She froze, then opened up the air. “After Gridiron.”

His hands were shaking in his pockets. “_Arasso._” He watched her leave. He was pretty sure he was watching his sanity go with her. As if to punctuate the severity of his decision, a text came in from X, asking for an update. _Mapsosa._

What the fuck was he doing?

* * *

“You’re sure this place is secure?” The hotel didn’t look dingy enough to be off the grid, but not quite nice enough to have good network security that he could manipulate into being better. Renee rolled her eyes and paid for their room-one room, two beds. Taejoon had initially hoped it was a sign she wasn’t as mad as he thought, but as it would turn out all the single beds were taken.

“It’s fine. Anita verified it.”

He crinkled his nose. “Yah, trust the one with IMC ties back five generations.”

“Bloodhound trusts her.”

“_Museun?!_”

“They go way back. As in, IMC days back. Elliott told me about it.”

He’d known they’d been IMC once upon a time, but the connection was baffling, nonetheless. Bangalore and _Bloodhound?_ She was such a ruler-straight stick in the mud he’d have thought Bloodhound would accept a hit on her before they’d be friends with her. They had so much to hide, and she had so much to gain by revealing it. _People are strange, _he decided as they entered the room. A table and two chairs, a dresser, beds and a bathroom, and a TV. He set his computer bag on the table and then his duffle on one bed, unzipping it. An orange striped head popped up; eyes slanted sleepily.

“What the fuck?” Renee said. “Is that your cat?”

“Yah. Tofutofutofu,” he scratched his head as his mouth opened wide and tongue lolled out. “Oh yes, big yawn, big boy yawn, so sleepy.” He caught himself when he heard her laugh and cleared his throat. “He’ll, uh, tear up the dorm if I’m away too long. Too small.”

She crossed her arms but walked over as the orange behemoth, who was pulling all twenty pounds of himself from the small hole in the duffle like a great, purring orange jello and stretching. “Never seen him in the flesh. Tofu, huh?”

“It’s his favorite.” His throat felt so tight. He trained his eyes on the cat, starting by rubbing his side and then his belly as he turned over. “I found him in a dumpster as a kitten.”

“Aw. Trash son.”

“He is my garbage son,” he agreed, both of them giggling, though Renee tried to pretend she wasn’t. He patted Tofu’s belly, since he really needed to set up security and check for bugs whether he wanted to or not, and Tofu squalled in protest until Renee took over, burying her fingers deep in his fat and fur.

“Hello, garbage son,” she said softly, likely thinking Taejoon couldn’t hear her. “Handsome Tofu, pretty trash boy.”

He was watching her over the rim of his laptop, stuck on the sight, typing without looking at the screen. His chest was so tight, his fingers icicles detached from the rest of him as they tapped the keys. He liked to say he was always prepared, and part of him believed he was.

But was he really prepared to lose her?

* * *

The air was dewy and smoggy, a lot like Suotamo in spring. The dampness hung around him and pressed into his clothes; doubling with the chill he got from leaning against the ventilation duct to make him shiver. He was piloting Yon, who he had paused in a corner as a guard walked by. The cameras were scrambled as she passed, making it seem to anyone watching security that there would be a blink and then a hall as empty as it had been before, but this required he be careful not to pass while guards were walking by.

He was suddenly yanked from his crouching position, landing him on his rear end. He dipped out of his optical controls to glare at Renee. “You’ll catch a cold leaning on that thing,” she said.

“Yes, well now my butt is wet. Thank you.”

“Don’t whine, it’s just damp.” She sat down beside him, and he huffed, going back to his interface. _I guess I’ll deal if she’s sitting too. _“That looks like the right hall. Is that a sign for offices?”

Taejoon squinted. “Yah. Heading that way.” He zipped Yon down the hall, thankful he wasn’t restricted by the Syndicate’s ring anymore. His little bot could go quite far, which meant he and Renee were (probably) safe on the roof of the boba tea a mile from the facility. They were doubly lucky on account of the weather driving most people indoors. He took Yon down one corner and the next when Renee gripped his shoulder. He extended his display out so he could look at her, and watched her point to a door, the first one in the hall of offices.

“That one. That’s the one.”

“You’re sure?”

“One hundred percent. There’s a computer in there with everything you need.”

“What about the others?” He flew Yon down and unlocked the door once she confirmed there was no life detected inside. There was a simple desktop, which Yon plugged into the back of under the desk. Renee was about to open her mouth when a figure flashed orange on his radar-someone was coming into the office. Her fingers dug into his shoulder harshly, and if she’d had any nails left it would have hurt like a bitch. He inched Yon further behind the PC tower but could only see the person’s feet. They were facing the desk. If they would just turn around-aaaaand they sat at the desk. Shit. _Ah hell, they scooted in, they’re settled, shit, shit, shit._ The longer he was in there the better a chance he had of being detected. If the person so much as leaned down to turn on the pc (thank Christ it was already on) they’d seen his drone and-well, he didn’t know what he’d do.

Yon was still downloading, he could see panic receptor warnings in the peripheral of his interface. The person was clacking their keyboard and Renee’s fingers were digging into his shoulder even harsher. Yon finished her download a second before he logged in. Taejoon’s stomach flip-flopped when he heard the ding of that stupid _device was not removed safely_ notification, but whoever operated the computer didn’t care enough to look. Carefully he lowered Yon until she was to the floor, between the back of the computer and the desk, and then turned her flight off completely, so she leaned between the two utterly silent.

They sat there, bated breath, for several minutes before Renee slowly moved her fingers from what felt like inside Taejoon’s shoulder. All they could see was a tangle of wires and the corner of a desk. She breathed. “I think I can maybe go into the void and grab her.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “I’ll have to move quick. It shatters like glass.”

“Wait, what? I thought it was just a popping-“

“That’s a different void.” She stood up, rolling her shoulders and staring at the screen, where the toe of the person’s shoe was pressed against the back of the desk. “There’s the space between that lets me go from my place to yours, like a tunnel, and then there’s the void. Void is…different.” She swallowed, then exhaled. “It’s what pulled me out of the first facility and dropped me into your place.”

He frowned. He should be keeping his eyes on the camera. “Is it alive?”

“I don’t know. It just is.” She looked at the air, and a portal appeared. It didn’t pop like the others, though it looked the same; it was a hollow wind noise, like someone inhaling a neverending breath.

“What should I do?” He said. He wasn’t prepared for this.

She turned back toward him and stared. Unsettlingly unwavering, statuesque if it weren’t for how her eyes flickered, her true eyes, the real Renee blue. “Be what you always are, Crypto. Prepared.” Then she went in, swallowed by the void.

_Prepared._ He stared into the camera, at the dust on the computer cables, feeling the realization gnawing at his gut. _I’m only ever prepared to run. _

* * *

Fan mail was not something Bloodhound used to consider a boon of being a Legend. In fact, it had been an utter chore, miles and miles of letters all saying the same thing, more than half of them requesting an autograph or a feather or something else. A good deal praising them and thinly veiling the question of who or what they were. Some were lovely, of course-poems, art, examples of craftsmanship, genuinely heartfelt letters of gratitude that Bloodhound really did not feel they deserved. They enjoyed those; they were honored by them. They still had a tiny carved figurine of Artur one fan had sent them in their first week. They’d gotten so tired of it they’d blocked anything but packages, announcing during a mid-season event that it was not out of malice, but necessity. It hadn’t been taken well, but their dip in popularity had been temporary, and now they had a very manageable one or two boxes of fan mail a week.

Elliot had twelve.

And most of it was covering the floor of their dorm. They had been organized piles-keep and not, respond and not, have the dropship block future letters/packages or not-until Artur decided he didn’t like it. So now they were sitting at their desk ankle deep in paper, watching Elliot shuffle things into far less organized piles. “Why didn’t you do this in your dorm.”

“Because it’s smaller than yours. Not fair, by the way.”

They snorted. “I paid the money for the biggest dorm, I get the biggest dorm.”

“Do I even want to know how much you spent?”

“Absolutely not.”

He sighed, half amused. His hair, left unencumbered by hair product and let to dry naturally, was soft and fluffy, half his curls falling in ringlets. He looked cute, relaxed. They rarely got to see him like this. “Ugh, well I guess it was worth it, my place is so _small._ Like, I can barely do push-ups in it. Can we _please_ petition for a shared dorm?”

“You know why we can’t do that,” they said gently.

“I don’t think the Officials care. Syndicate doesn’t really give a shit.”

“They care enough to use it to promote the Games.”

He paused, exhaling, almost slipping on the carpet of letters. “Yeah, I guess your right.” His mouth quirked up at the corner as he nodded toward the back of their room. “Can you at least get a normal bed?”

They looked at the tri-cornered hammock, grinning slightly. “I think the hammock is comfy.”

“It’s weird. Like you don’t fall out since it’s shaped like a tortilla chip but like, God, you can’t even have sex in that thing.”

The laughed. “Oh, can’t I?”

“Huh?” He looked up. He was a good ten feet from them. They crossed one leg over the other, rolling their ankle and leaning their elbow on the desk, propping their head up with their fist, smile kittenish.

“Have you ever had sex in a hammock, Elliott?”

“Uhhhhh, no.” Oh, they had his interest.

“Well, you’ll get the chance to if you can get to me without tripping.” They nodded toward the papers, which he’d already slid around on on his knees. He grinned, slowly rising to his feet.

“Oh, you’re on.” He said playfully, starting to step and almost immediately eating shit, but Bloodhound pretended they hadn’t seen, rising from the chair and slowly circling around to the back, leaning with their elbows on the back, face resting on their fists hips swinging idly as Elliott tried to reckon his steps. Turned out paper became a lot more fearful an opponent when it stood in the way of a good time. Not that it would stop Bloodhound. If he fell? They had every intention of doing as they wished where he landed.

That was until he stopped a little more than halfway to them, staring at the floor with his brow furrowed. He bent down, glancing up as he grabbed a large, fat manilla envelope off the floor. “Sorry, it, uh, it’s from Mom.”

Bloodhound nearly told him to save it for bloody later, but its existence was enough to stop them. Evelyn never wrote letters. Only calls or facetime. She didn’t send packages, either-she’d only ever sent Elliott gift cards through email. He said it became a habit when he moved out since he moved too much for her to keep track of his address’s half the time. “What’s in it?”

He walked over carefully while undoing the metal clasp, pausing again and pulling out what looked like old papers with dozens of lines Bloodhound didn’t understand. Elliot pulled out one folded paper, then another, handing them off to Bloodhound until they were holding a good twelve, and then pulled out a letter written on notebook paper last. “Elliott,” he read aloud, “keep these safe. I will be sending you more later. I am fine and not in danger, but I think these were. Love you, Mom.”

“What are these?” Bloodhound looked down at the papers. Elliot pulled one up and unfolded it halfway, and Bloodhound saw a clear outline of a suit-a holosuit.

“Jesus Christ,” he said aloud, “these are her original plans, and blueprints, even her schematics. Holy shit.” He let the rest of the paper fall open, revealing a full-body view of a holosuit, with a whole slew of technical mumbo jumbo, some of which was written in Spanish. Elliot refolded and pulled out another, then took all the papers and started checking the lot, Bloodhound watching from the side, seeing images of disks and men and suits, and then diagrams and paragraphs of information. Elliott stared at it all with laser focus and meticulously folded it all back up and stacked it. “Most of it is her dead experiments. Stuff she abandoned because it was declared illegal.”

Bloodhound swallowed. “What, ah, what do you think it means?”

He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “This is the Syndicate stronghold now, and she knows that. She’s not stupid; we’re more monitored here than we have been anywhere else. So that means whatever she doesn’t want getting these, well, she wants it getting them less than she wants the Syndicate getting them.”

Bloodhound bit their lip. They felt they already knew the answer. “And what does _that_ mean?”

He inhaled deeply, meeting their eye. “Nothing good.”

* * *

She fell out of the sky and into his arms. The positioning was impeccable, and the panic was thick on his tongue, sour and milky. She was gripping Yon, eyes wide, like a shock victim. He could hear a faint alarm in the distance. He did what he was good at-ran, to the back of the roof and then across to the next in the line of shops, blessedly flat-topped and modern. Renee wasn’t heavy, but she wasn’t exactly light either, especially to a guy who never carried more than five pounds of drone. But adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

“Lemmegoh,” she mumbled, and he stopped mid-run on the roof of a nail salon. She was dropped to her feet and gripped his arm. Yon beeped and he turned back on her flight mechanism with his optical, allowing Renee to release her and throw a portal, which she pulled him through before he could say anything. It was disorienting and left a metallic taste in his mouth, and was followed with another almost immediately, nothing like her cooldown in ring. It put them out a few hundred yards from their hotel.

She was gasping but ran anyway, they both did, side by side, bursting into the hotel in a totally not-suspicious manner and continuing all the way to their room. His lungs burned, his ribs ached, and his legs were shaking. His whole mouth tasted like a battery. Renee fumbled the card through the slot until they were let in and both, immediately, collapsed onto the nearest bed. All that was heard for several minutes was gasping and gulping and wheezing.

“What the hell happened?” He said after he felt human again. He’d seen her arm grab Yon, but once in the void Yon’s camera didn’t work. He only heard the alarm go off before she fell through the sky.

“After I grabbed Yon, I saw me,” she whispered. Tofu came over to curiously sniff her palm and she began petting him. “But it wasn’t me. It looked like me, but it, it wasn’t. I-it, looked scared a-and, and,” she inhaled deeply, slowly sitting up, exhaling as she did so. “It said, “close”. It just kept saying close. Faster, and, and faster. Then I was in, in one of the old containment chambers, and the alarms went off and the-the panic, I was in the void again, and then, and then the void brought me to you.”

Taejoon turned his head, still laying down, staring at her back. He could see the faintest sheen of sweat on her arms, stray hair sticking to the back of her neck. “Do you know what it means?”

“No,” she snapped, pushing herself up from the bed. “I don’t.”

He had plenty he wanted to say to that, like _don’t snap at me when I just hauled your ass a mile_ or _please stop being angry with me, I don’t know what to do_. “You should take a shower.”

A beat passed, then she went to her bag and pulled out a set of clothes. “Your right.” That’s all she said.

Taejoon made notes of what she’d said on one of the hotel notepads while she showered and Yon uploaded the information to his database. She was in there for almost an hour, and when she came out, she had her hair wrapped in a towel. “I’ve never understood how girls do that,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow, looking much more like the Renee he felt he’d come to know. _I do know her, don’t I?_ She smiled a little, letting the hair fall, then bent at the waist, laid the towel over her head, twisted it around her hair, and flipped her head back.

“Holy shit,” he said before he could stop himself. She laughed.

“Elliott said the same thing.” She sat across from him at the table, glancing at his notes. He passed them over. He didn’t know when, but she’d figured out how to read Hangul. It was designed to be easy to learn, a matter of hours, really, but most people found it too intimidating. Renee hadn’t. And maybe that scared him a little, since he relied so much on no one knowing. But it was also sort of nice. “A sign we're getting close, huh? I guess it could be a warning, but it felt…realer, than that. Like somebody was actually standing there. But I’ve never met anyone in the void before.”

“Well, maybe someone else found their way in.” She was quiet. “You weren’t the only experiment, Renee.”

“I was declared a failure.”

“Yah, but you’re alive. And you know how the IMC sticks around, even if it isn’t really the same thing anymore.”

She slowly passed the paper back to him. “Find anything in the database?”

In response he threw a projection up from his optical implant, scanning through the files until they popped up-another list, with notes. Notes that said which facilities had been destroyed, and when. It eliminated half their remaining roster, though Taejoon was always one to question such things. But that wasn’t the most important part: another facility, with no coordinates, called Novissimus. A facility marked as a former project of the ARES division, who had been over Project Wraith. “Another crumb,” she said. She sounded even more tired than she looked, yet there was a spark of hope.

“I can look into it.”

“Please,” she said, and the politeness was enough to ease his shoulders. He felt like he was bouncing around in a weird in-between, where Renee had never confronted him and where she still hated him, where he was bull-headedly moving forward with the plans, and where he began to doubt what he was doing. Walking a tightrope over a net made of razorblades; if he fell he might survive, but he wasn’t sure if he’d recognize himself afterward.

He started looking. She went to her bed, laying down and closing her eyes. She seemingly fell asleep and didn’t say anything about what he promised when she woke up. She left, returning with boba tea and ramen from the shops downtown, eyes a stormy gray. “Sorry, they don’t have japchae here.”

“It’s okay.” He thanked her and broke the wooden chopsticks apart, mixing the ramen around and then shoving a bundle into his mouth. He became aware she wasn’t eating. _Ah fuck-_

“So, why are you trying to take out the Syndicate.” She asked. He choked on the ramen, even if he saw it coming. “Thought I’d drop it, huh?”

His heart thudded like a rabbit’s. _Run, run, run._ It whispered. _Run. It’s the only way you’ll live. It’s the only way you can. Run!_ His lips were trembling. “Taejoon Park,” he said.

“What?”

“Look it up. Taejoon, one word, and Park.” Cold dread was dripping through him, like blood down a wall in a horror movie. But he hadn’t run. She eyed him, then pulled out her phone and did so. He felt he might throw up what little noodle was in his stomach. He could see her looking at the screen, her face going almost blank. Even his heart wasn’t louder than that quiet around them. “Taejoon,” she said slowly, letting the letters roll over her tongue. He almost collapsed. “Taejoon Park. The sister killer.”

Her tone gave nothing away.

“I did not kill her.” His voice was steady. It felt wrong that it was. “They did. We had the prediction algorithm they use to influence bets. She wanted to rig the system, I told her not to. She tried. They killed her. Blamed me. I’ve been running since.”

She was silent. Crushing, crushing silence. His arms began to shake beneath it. “Oh.”

Oh? Fucking _Oh?!_ He placed his palms on the table and pushed himself up. “What do you mean “oh”? Why aren’t you saying anything?” He threw his hands up when she just stared at him. He wanted, needed _something_. “I’m wanted for murder and you say _oh?_”

She stared. Her eyes wide. She blinked and they went from gray to her true color. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” She said. He froze. He hadn’t expected sympathy. He wasn’t prepared for sympathy. “You got totally fucked, and I’m pretty sure “they murdered my sister” is a totally legitimate reason to want to tear the whole goddamn thing apart.” She bit her lip, standing across from him. “I just wanna make sure you don’t burn everything else-I mean, look, I care about the other Legends. They’re the only family I know, even if it’s a fucked-up family. Some of them have _nothing_ but these Games-I sure don’t. So if you’re gonna take down the Syndicate, let me help you make it so the people I care about don’t join the ashes. That includes you. Icarus flew too close to the sun and all that.”

He ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth, throat tight. His voice cracked. “You want to help me?”

“Of course I do.” She put her hands on his shoulders firmly, and her mouth turned into a gentle smile. “I told you the last time I fell through someone’s ceiling, I met my best friend. Well, I think I’m allowed to have more than one of those, right? I care, dumbass. One fight doesn't change that.”

He sniffed. _Oh no, I am not crying. _He started hiccupping, covering his mouth. _Stop it. _“What are you wanting out of this, out of getting rid of them?” She asked.

“I-I want,” he hiccupped and swayed, finding himself on his knees, Renee’s hands on his arms, gripping them tightly. “I want to be Taejoon again.”

She pulled him into a hug. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged him. He slowly slid his arms around her, gripping at her shirt. “Then I’ll help you reach that, however I can, Taejoon.”

His breathing stuttered, and he muffled his hiccups in her shoulder, gripping her tightly.

For the first time since Mila died, Taejoon Park cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna start just translating things I don't explain in text, since I do that with some words and it's quite a bit to comb through this. Anyway.
> 
> Korean:  
Arasso - alright, yeah, okay.  
Mapsosa - oh my god, exasperated form, like "oh my god I can't believe I just did that"  
Museun - what


	20. Juxtaposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus has a birthday; the dropship gets a surprise visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge apologies for the lateness in updating. Had quite a bit of difficulty with the chapter, compounded by college. But I have a beta reader now (shout out to @skezzab on twitter godbless) and you all should thank your lucky stars that she exists because I almost published this with a full on line of gibberish notes in the middle of a conversation
> 
> ANYWAY important note: Bjorn uses both he/they pronouns. It'll come up for a sec in a later chapter, but just wanted to make a note for those that might be confused because he was referred to as they only in earlier chapters. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support, your comments and kudos and everything just mean the world. <3

“I’m telling you, it is unnecessary,” Taejoon repeated. Yon projected a blank outline of a man to show the call was ongoing as he stared at himself in the mirror, watching the muscles of his neck move as he spoke. The stripes of synthetic skin over his larynx reminded him of the belly of a lizard.

“We need the _ push _, man. Have to have every one of the Syndicate’s lackeys on our side, you said so yourself.”

“They’re not lackeys. They’re people, and I am not blackmailing them.”

“People? Man are you fuckin’ serious, you’re fuckin’ serious?”

He’d slipped. Renee was getting to him, Bloodhound. He inhaled deeply. “Not like that. But they’re not loyal to the Syndicate. At least half of them would be glad to see it rot.”

“Then we recruit them to the cause!”

“The cause?” He ran a finger gently along the edge of his eyebrow, suddenly remembering when Mila taught him how to pluck them. She’d said he was stupid for wanting to, because he was a guy and could get away without ever having to maintain anything and should take advantage, but he’d hated the rounded edge, thought they looked like fat black caterpillars. Even when he went into hiding, he still plucked them. “What cause? This isn’t a vigilante justice group, X, this is a covert takedown operation. You, me. You provide the finance and some occasional information, I provide the service. In the end we succeed and never talk again.”

X sighed so harshly into the phone it came as a crackle through Yon’s speaker. “Whatever, fine. I want an update in a week. Out.” The contact image shuddered out of existence. Taejoon sighed, running his fingers over his eyebrows, wondering if he should just use one of those eyebrow razors, when the far more important thought weaseled its way into the limelight:

What cause?

* * *

Magnus _ hated _ blueberry skyr cake, but he always suffered through one very small slice on Bloodhound’s birthday, not because Bloodhound wanted him to, or because Bjørn expected it, but because he didn’t want to hurt his Ama’s feelings, though Bloodhound’s mother had confided in them that she appreciated the gesture and wasn’t offended at all, but the face he made every year was way too funny to ask him to stop. In this same vein Bloodhound quelled their gag reflex on his birthday every year, because of all things the kid wanted it was goddamn _ apricot _ vinarterta.

They knew Bjørn enjoyed every goddamn second.

Thankfully on this birthday Magnus had been gifted a sled with runners that could be switched out with wheels and had a hole for a steering stick to be inserted, an invention conjured between Bjørn and Bloodhound’s father. Magnus was so eager to play he zipped out soon as his cake was finished, and Bloodhound immediately shoved theirs at Bjørn. “Can’t see how you eat that stuff.”

“With a fork, usually. My hand if it does not work fast enough.” Bjørn replied. He’d always had a very frank tone to his voice, an even baritone that was almost emotionless to those who did not know him well.

“Ack. Mama, is there still coffee?” She nodded, getting up and pouring them a mug. Bloodhound drank it black as night. It was one of the few things they didn’t sweeten. They knew they and Bjørn would be summoned soon enough to watch whatever shenanigans Magnus had managed to cook up with his new toy. They would take the few minutes between to rest.

“You’re wearing your jewelry.” Bjørn said. Bloodhound gripped their mug, until he added, “it looks nice.”

_ Ah, we choose civility. _ “Thank you.” 

A long pause. “Is it because of him?”

“So you heard,” they said.

“Your father told me. Elliott. It’s a strange name. Doesn’t look your type.”

“Are you saying that because he’s Dominican or because he’s pretty?”

He snorted. “The latter more than the former.” His jaw set. “But I hear you intend to bring him here.”

“For Yule.” Bjørn lit a cigarette, took a drag and passed it to Bloodhound. They always smoked too much when they were back home. The tobacco was coarser, but tasted better, unfiltered, as Bjørn rolled his own.

“You do not think it is early?”

“Considering our past, no.”

“You forget our past.”

“I am not spending several years with him as some specter at the end of Magnus’s peripheral. He is a good man, Bjørn, and he wants to be involved, if Magnus will let him. He doesn’t expect to, to take anything or become anything that he is not welcome to be, alright?”

He idly drew from the cigarette, tapping out the ash into the ashtray. It popped off in a cylinder, crinkled white and black tissue paper layers. “I just think of the time you dedicate to him that could be put elsewhere.”

The guilt tugged up, from their gut, a tight line along their sternum as they let their fist fall from their shoulder to the table, rattling the glasses and plates. “May his spear strike your side,” they said, and when he remained quiet, added, “do you think so little of me?”

“Sometimes,” he said.

“Gods, can you give me one? One trip without saying anything?”

“Likely not,” he said, as evenly as he said anything, and Bloodhound struck the table in response, standing. He offered them the cigarette. And they took it. “You know I’ve only ever worried for Magnus.”

“I know,” they hissed, wishing for those filters on the commercial cigarettes so they could have something to flick away angrily. “You think I do not? The moment I held him I have loved nothing more-“

“But never a moment before that.”

“You were no better!” They replied, shrilly and then dug their thumb nail into the pad of their middle finger as Magnus came clattering in with a good half of the village children peeking in the windows. Bloodhound and Bjørn were immediately casual, a practiced act, knowing how little mouths could run. “Ah, I suppose you’ve got something going?”

Magnus’s eyes darted between them, then he grinned. “Yes, come look!” He waved them over, the other children streaming out. “I think I can make it fly!”

They felt a sudden influx of emotion, seeming to realize for the first time he was 10. 10 years old. The little hands that waved at their plane when they landed were so much bigger and kept getting bigger. Bjørn’s words began to nag at them. “Fly? Oh no, Bjørn?”

“I’ll get the bandages.”

“Pamma!” Magnus protested, grumbling as Bjørn grabbed the first aid kit and ruffled his hair on the way out the door. Bloodhound snuffed out the cigarette and brought up the rear. They watched with Bjørn as Magnus sailed down a hill with his friends and somehow didn’t crash, and then watched again, this time holding their breath, as he did the same run with an old parachute from someone’s attic, which when released at top speed resulted in a sudden stop that chucked all four children from the sled. With professional ease Bjørn and Bloodhound surveyed for lasting injuries; scrapes were washed but left be, but in the case of Magnus he’d gone and gotten a cut above his brow, which bled profusely.

Bloodhound held a rag to the cut, looking up to meet Bjørn’s eye when he came over. He looked at them and then knelt to fuss over Magnus.

They bandaged his head, and together, the two parents stood aside to let him go again. Without the parachute. 

* * *

It was weird having Crypto there.

Like sure, he was Renee’s friend, and Bloodhound’s sorta, but he’d almost broken Elliott’s arm at the start of the season and, uh, no, he wasn’t over it, and he was also kind of an ass even if they had decent banter. But recently he and Renee came as a pair, so much so Elliott had pulled her aside and asked if they were, y’know, a _ thing. _

“Not like that,” she’d shrugged. “He’s a cool dude. But we’re just friends.”

“Oh, cool! Okay, I just like , I dunno I got the impression he like, _ likes _ you.”

She paused. “Nah. Some shit went down.”

The “shit that went down” was the reason they were here, together, in Bloodhound’s bedroom, because it was big enough for the four folding tables Elliott had stolen from a supply closet. They were laden with the blueprints and schematics and notes his mother sent, another layer of his own notes, in typewriter neat handwriting. He’d kicked all the dirty clothes and stray beer bottles behind a book crate. “I dunno how much any of this could help,” he admitted. Renee was focused on the papers, walking along the rim of the tables, while Crypto’s eyes were everywhere, wide with interest at the candles and furs around, and then equally interested in the schematics-he looked like he understood them more than Renee did. “It’s all holotech. It’s not like she worked on Project: Wraith. She was, uh, was out of IMC by then.”

“Yeah, but these all have the facilities she worked at. We’re looking for anything under the ARES division, or involving a place called Novissimus. If your mom worked there, she might know something. Know where it is.”

He furrowed his brow. “Novissi-novissmoose-muse. _ Novis-simus. _ Never heard of it. ARES, though, might be something here…”

“Why don’t we just call her?” Crypto said.

“I never expected you to choose the easy way,” Renee said.

“I have all the lines encrypted.”

“She,” he said, gathering their attention, and swallowing, “she doesn’t want anybody calling. She’s told me not to-she, she sent me all of this stuff for a reason.”

They both frowned. “I haven’t seen anything on cameras, no notifications,” Crypto said.

By God, how could he have forgotten about the cameras? He even had the app on his phone, somewhere…deep in there. “I, I dunno she just, every letter she tells me not to call-there’s seven of them,” he turned, producing a stack of half-empty manilla envelopes. “It’s all insane stuff-old stuff, mostly illegal. How to cloak machines, and weapons and cities. Entire planets, even.” He swallowed, pointing to one blueprint, “this one is a whole plan to make it so you can just, make somebody look like somebody else.”

“Like Polyjuice potion?” Crypto asked.

_ Your nerd level is over 9000, dude. _“I guess.”

Renee was frowning. “This is some sketchy shit, Elliott. I didn’t know your mom was all into…this.”

He swallowed, hugging himself loosely. He was wearing one of Bloth’s oversized sweaters that still smelled like them, gray with a loose neck. The stitch of the shoulders was halfway down his upper arm-they absolutely swam in it. He worried at the sleeves. “She’s not exactly proud of it. You don’t always know what’s right in a war.”

Crypto nodded sagely. Elliott would have thought it an act of disconnected sympathy if he was actually 24 like he told everybody-it would make him six when things ended, barely old enough to remember a flash of gun smoke. But Bloodhound had succumbed to Elliott’s wheedling and admitted he was 31. It was actually…comforting, given Renee couldn’t remember anything. “Well, I don’t see anything. Renee?”

She shook her head, coming round to Elliott’s side and stopping. “Oh, dude,” her voice was soft, and her hand was on his arm. He was shaking. “You okay?”

_ No, my mom’s gone no contact while sending me sketchy holotech shit, my partner is millions of miles away and only reachable by fucking letter, and I feel like a giant baby because I’m running out of sweaters that smell like them. _“Yeah, yeah I’m fine just, you know, it’s a lot.”

She frowned and looked like she might say something when there was a knock at the door. Crypto, being closest, opened it after a moment of hesitation, and Elliott fell back into shelves, knocking candles over as his mouth caught up with his brain. “Mom?!”

* * *

Bloodhound’s gift was one which they had anticipated for many years: a hunting knife with an antler handle carved, polished and sealed by their hand, and a full tang blade forged at the village blacksmith. It was one of the two most important tools for a hunter to have; before the age of ten to thirteen, a child would use the knife of one of their parents, but, at a point in those three years decided by the parents, they would get their own, which they would have for the rest of their life. There was also the matter of the other, equally important tool, the bow. The first was received at age 4 or 5, and the second at 15, which would also be with them for the rest of their life. It was traditional that one parent would gift the child with the knife, and the other with the bow: who gifted which was decided between the parents.

It was true Bloodhound had a propensity for blades, but the biggest reason behind Bloodhound gifting the blade was that Bjørn was shit at carving antler_ . _ And they both wanted their son to have one of the best looking, and best made, blades in the village. Was a little part of this desire because they wanted to make the other parents seethe at seeing a child, so young, with such a nice knife, nicer than they could make, and wield it so well?

….Absolutely.

Watching him open it, hold it in his palm, the handle a bit big so his hand could grow into it, the blade glinting in the light over the kitchen table, they didn’t realize they were crying until Bjørn nudged them with his shoulder and offered them his handkerchief. They took it, smiling at him, and he was smiling too, soft and muted but full of more emotion than anyone had ever given him credit for. The earlier argument was forgotten, this was a proud day for both of them. Magnus stood in his chair and sliced at the air, an amazed sort of grin on his face as the people around him, his aunts and uncles, cousins, cheered, the littlest children tugging on his pant leg, begging for a look. He got off the chair and held the knife with the sharp end inward, away from the little fingers swiping along the steel.

“He’s always so careful,” Bjørn whispered. Bloodhound, without thinking about it, had begun to lean into him, hand over hand, arm to arm, their head almost on his shoulder.

“He gets that from you,” they said softly. He smelled like sage, the incense he always had burning in his house.

“Perhaps, between us, he’ll only end up slightly crazy,” Bjørn proposed, and Bloodhound laughed. Magnus was showing the handle to his uncles now, Revna and Sigrid nodding with approval beside them. They’d spent years deciding on the design, before settling on a base of the well of the Norns, Yggdrasil placed above with various gods carefully carved around and into its branches, transitioning into a portrait of the Allfather and his ravens on the other side.

“If I recall correctly, I was not the one who said we should streak from the sauna straight into the lake.” They said.

“I may have said it, but you’re the one that actually did it.”

They unsuccessfully tried to bite down the smile, glancing at him. They were aware of the warmth of him and felt guilty for leaning into it. Missing it. “You should have known I would.”

With a rare spark in his eyes, he said, “have you ever considered I did?”

* * *

“I’m so sorry, _peque_.”

“It’s okay Mom, it’s okay,” He was bent over to hug her. It wasn’t okay at all. He pulled back to look at her, a hand on her cheek, touching her hair, her shoulder, giving her a once over and feeling entirely like _ he _ was the mother. “What the _ hell _is going on, Mom?”

“I’m fine-“

“Look I can see-I mean what the _ hell _ are you doing here? On this ship?” He gestured around. “On fucking Talos.”

For once in her life, she didn’t admonish his mouth. “Well, something’s going on.”

“Something’s going on that made you come here, but you’re perfectly safe and I have nothing to worry about?” She winced. He held back the glare, hoping it came out in his voice, the mixture of relief and vexation. Then it hit him. “Jack.”

“Jack,” she said, shoulders slackening. No amount of makeup could hide the bags under her eyes.

He thought he was going to be sick first, but then he realized that hot crawling feeling in his stomach was rage. “What the fuck is he doing?”

“He’s not, he’s not doing-“

“Mom!”

She stopped, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. “You remember when you were visiting, and I said he’s always been interested in my holotech? Well it’s that. But it’s not just him anymore, and I don’t give a damn about Jack, but there were two others and I just…I sent you the letters on my way to bridge. I figured he wouldn’t think I’d use the post.” She glanced at the table. “And it looks like it worked.”

He bit the inside of his cheek until it bled. “I thought we had a deal.”

“We did. Do. Honey I just, I…”

“Ma.”

“I was afraid they might go for you, too. I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know what they want-if it’s cloaking or decoys or what-but it only got bad after you came here. I, I don’t know,” she threw her hand half-heartedly, “it was a scramble.”

He was quiet for a moment, and said slowly, “why did _ you _ come here?”

“They ransacked the house, while I was shopping. Nothing was broken but I thought “Evelyn, you stubborn old bat, this is where you run.” So I did. I used some of the extra money you gave me to hire a guard, and I grabbed my things and hid some others, and I ran.” She swallowed hard. “I knew I’d be safe here. And maybe I missed you, just a little bit.”

His lips considered smiling while his brain processed the infodump of a lifetime. He went for a hug again, this time long and lingering and it might have melted a little of his anger. If any of Bloodhound’s habits had rubbed off on him, it was the long pauses. “I’m glad your okay, Mom. But…what makes here safer? Distance? I thought you said Jack had “connections”.”

“On Solace, sure.” She smiled, bright-eyed again. “But this isn’t Solace. And, ah, I might have called in a favor with an old friend of mine here.”

“What old friend?”

“Kuban Blisk.”

Crypto choked. “The Commissioner of the Games?!”

She nodded, nonchalant. “That’s him! Oh Renee, hi sweetie! Sorry I missed you on the way in. Who’s your friend?”

“That’s Crypto, Evelyn,” Renee gave him a hardy whack on the back. “The guy I got the cameras from.”

“Oh! Well it’s a pleasure to meet you in person, honey.”

He nodded rapidly then toned it down, eyes wide as he cleared his throat. “It’s a pleasure,” he managed.

“How do you know Kuban Blisk?” Elliott said.

“My IMC days. He was quite a big shot there. Mans a mercenary, but we got along.” There was a pause. “So, what were you all up to before I got here, huh? Looks like a party!”

“We’re looking for anything we can find on some old facilities.” Renee put a hand to her chest, “anything to do with the experiment that made me. ARES, of course, but we got a new lead, something called Novissimus.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I recognize that name. There’s secret, and then there’s Novissimus. I could possibly log into my database at home from here, if I can get the network set right. See if I have something.”

“You have a database?” Elliot asked.

“Of course.”

Secrets, secrets, secrets. Elliott felt very tired, suddenly. But his mother was alive and as safe as he could think of making her, and Renee needed help. “Maybe Crypto can help you with that.”

“Yah!” Crypto stopped, and cleared his throat, eyes dodging Evelyn’s. “I, uh, can add you to my encryption network.”

“Sounds lovely. Perhaps we can do that right now?” She smiled and looked at Elliott, the expression failing as she reached out and took hold of his hand. “Elliott?”

He squeezed her hand, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You go ahead, Mom. I’m gonna get some rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peque-little/little boy


	21. Inward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's time for you to look inward and begin asking yourself the big questions: who are you, and what do YOU want?"
> 
> God bless @skezzab on twitter best beta reader 10/10

Evelyn had a room of her own on the dropship with the rest of the staff. She’d swung some sort of senior position out of whatever favor Blisk owed her, and rumors flew around about what exactly had brought Evelyn Witt on board. It was sort of funny, seeing top engineers and biomedical scientists with clipboards clutched to their chests every time they came to ask her a question, usually having nothing to do with her work on-ship (whatever that was).

Best of all was probably Crypto, who Elliott had found perched on one of his mother’s workbenches, absolutely enraptured as Evelyn prattled on about the piece of holotech in her hands. Sometimes he’d catch them talking in the halls-or rather his mother talking, Crypto listening. Once Crypto had been in her office dismantling his drone and explaining the components to her, sounding the most excited about anything...ever. It took all he had not to laugh and Renee asked him to _please_ not bring it up. 

Of course, there were disadvantages to having one's mother in the workplace. Like showing baby pictures to all of his coworkers. Which would be whatever, he was adorable, if she _didn’t insist on the bathtub ones. _He sent a whole letter to Bloodhound lamenting his situation. Their response in their weekly video chat? “What’s the point of having children if you don’t get to embarrass them once in a while?”

“You’ll change your tune when I come to visit,” he retorted. “Imagine all the things your parents could tell me about you.”

They blanched. “Well, well imagine what your mother has already told me.”

He cleared his throat, tugging at his collar. “Shit.”

“We suffer together,” they declared.

“I hate you.”

With Bloodhound gone it was up to him to deliver the letters from the village. They’d secured pens, pencils, paper and envelopes and stamps before leaving for home-which wasn’t just for Magnus’s birthday, but to help prepare for the arrival of the village of New Dawn. Between the mother who had a crazy abusive ex after her, the best friend who was risking her life multiple times a week to find anything about her past, and the absent partner, Elliott was…having a time. He’d always been fantastic at hiding his issues, but either Sigfrøðr was an empath or he was starting to stretch at the seams. The point was Elliott was alone on a bench watching the kids play with a soccer ball he’d brought, and then Sigfrøðr was beside him, grabbing him by the chin and squinting at his face.

“Hello?” He said in confusion. Sigfrøðr let him go and leaned back, arms crossed. He was one of the only men in the village with glasses, a pair that were certainly beyond old and way out of prescription, but he was near blind without them. Elliott had seen him retreat to his and Artur’s tent multiple times when coming for the mail due to the headaches.

“Missing your lokna?” He asked.

“Yeah.” He sighed, the switch to Odin’s Tongue instinctual, he almost didn’t notice. “And other stuff.”

“The Games are not a peaceful life, I suppose.”

“Heh, no, it’s pretty busy.”

“Busy how?”

And that was all it took. It poured from him, half stuttering, a bubbling stream of frustration, and worry, and yearning, dribbles of confusion and indecisiveness-should he go after Jack? Can he help Renee? What was he supposed to do if he could never match his mother’s work? What if Magnus didn’t like him, what if the whole village didn’t? Was Bloth still hiding important shit or was he just being paranoid? Had he not asked the right questions? He felt so completely, utterly useless all at once, and doubled over on the bench with his hands covering his face. He wasn’t a frustration crier, but he was two invasive thoughts about his mom dying horribly and Bloodhound leaving him from becoming one.

Suddenly he felt the firm press of a hand on his back, then that hand moving up and down, slowly, rhythmically. He had a flashback to being eight years old in the car with his parents, coming back from who-knows-where, and getting sick, vomiting into the floor, red-faced with shame. His dad stopping the car, cleaning it up and sitting in the back with him while his mother drove and he hung his head over a fast-food bag. His dad’s hands, thick from work and big as oven mitts in his memory, rubbing his back, up and down, slowly, rhythmically. “It’ll settle son,” he’d said, voice a half hum, a rumble so faded Elliott wasn’t sure it was how he actually sounded anymore. “It’ll all settle.”

He dropped his hands, knuckles limp against the dirt, then slowly rose until he could plant his elbows on his knees and lock himself there. Sigfrøðr never stopped rubbing. If he started humming Elliott might cry. He took the comfort. He still had the mail to take back, but he could think of that later. For now, he let the late day sun filter into his mind, the sweet heat from summer grass, the beat of voices, scrape of tools being made or used, the faint yelping of some young person getting a tattoo, a sacred mark they’d been denied so long by circumstance.

“Feeling better?” Sigfrøðr asked gently. He hadn’t realized that he sat up, Sigfrøðr’s hand resting on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” He said quietly.

Sigfrøðr looked toward the horizon. “The light wanes. Stay for dinner, won’t you?”

He rolled his shoulders and breathed deeply. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“You are family here, Elliott. Please remember that.” He planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself up, pausing. “I do not normally offer it, I feel it is best for an individual to discover their own path as Allfather intended, but perhaps I can give you some advice. Something to think on.”

“I’m listening,” he said.

“From what you’ve told me this evening, you’ve spent most of your time being considerate of others. You have been very, very patient with Blóðhundur. You have helped your friends in ways that jeopardized your own life, faced past demons that wish to harm those you love, and even in your job you put on the best show possible to bring joy to the masses, at least that’s how Blóðhundur talks about it.”

It was hard to swallow. “I…I guess.”

He nodded. “Now this is the question I want you to ask yourself, Elliott,” he leaned down, peering at his face with serious, dark eyes. “What is it that _you_ want?”

* * *

“Don’t throw your knife at the ceiling,” Bloodhound said without looking up, instead glancing at Elliott’s latest letter. Renee was having no success thus far, and his mother’s database was proving more difficult than Taejoon anticipated to get into. His handwriting was still unnaturally neat, so they weren’t worried yet.

“But you threw it at the ceiling all the time! I can see your knife marks!” Magnus pointed with his foot and his knife at the ceiling of Bloodhound’s bedroom.

“Yes, and it was a stupid thing to do.” Now they turned, arm over the back of the chair. “I have scars because of it.”

“Scars are cool.”

“So is having both eyes.”

“But-“

“I explicitly disallow you to do anything that results in an eyepatch.” He huffed, chucking the knife at a far wall, narrowly missing a picture. “Magnus Bjørnsson!”

“I’m bored!”

“Practice your runes, then.”

“But I don’t want toooooo,” he groaned, rolling to the side of the bed and then dramatically sliding off, landing with a thud.

“Then you shouldn’t say you’re bored.” _Gods, I sound like my mother. _ There was only a sorrowful whine from the floor. Deciding that was that, they turned back to their letter. Normally they would have just sent him outside, but there was a polar bear spotted not far from town so all but volunteers were locking themselves inside. It was Bjørn’s turn to volunteer, so Bloodhound was with Magnus. 

Time ticked on the clock with only noises of settling house and Magnus doing…whatever little boys did when denied knife-throwing privileges. Probably staring at the ceiling, that’s what they did as a kid. And Elliott wondered why they were so easily entertained. Soon they heard the drag along the floor, the attempt at a silent creep. They smiled to themself, dipping their pen in the ink well and pressing down to write the next line when they felt the skinny arms around their neck. “Got you!” he hollered, playfully pulling back. They half gagged, grabbing his arms with a laugh, foot falling from their knee-they were going to stand up, play wrestle.

They had forgotten they were leaning on the back two legs of their chair.

Magnus jumped out of the way in time. They fell, smashing into the floor and kicking their desk with their foot. This in turn thrust the inkwell over. It then rolled down the desk and splattered ink all over Bloodhound and the floor. Magnus gasped and clapped his hands over his mouth. “I’m sorry!”

They blinked, sitting up and looking at themself. Their white tunic was ruined.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-“

“It was an accident, Magnus,” they said calmly.

He fidgeted. “I’m sorry.”

In came Katla, and Mamma, and Pabbi, and Sigrid and Gods they were struck with the instinct to yell for everyone to get out of their room like they were a teenager. They half waved, standing. “It’s fine.”

“What happened?” Mamma came in, hands on her hips.

“I leaned my chair too far back.” Katla pointed and laughed, and in response Bloodhound pulled off their tunic and chucked it at her. She gasped, dropping it, hands covered in ink. Pabbi, grumbling, picked it up and left.

“Oh, please Hundur, make yourself decent.” Mamma chided. She already had a rag out and was mopping up the desk.

“Bah!” They threw their hands, opening the tiny closet in the corner. Magnus had pressed himself to the foot of their bed, looking at his shoes. They caught Sigrid eyeing him and gave her a warning look. She shot one back, something like, _well he should be cleaning up his messes,_ and they would have liked to said, _that’s not at all what happened and you should go manage your own horde, _but thankfully nothing at all transpired besides Sigrid getting more rags. At the end of things Bloodhound apologized and closed the door. “Chin up, Magnus, it was an accident.”

He shifted again, seeming to relax. “I’m-“

“No, nono. You have apologized more than enough.” They caressed his cheek and kissed the top of his head before they sat down smoothly, looking at the desk. They hid the frown. Their letter was ruined, that was fine, but it was the fact Elliott’s now had a curved splatter across the whole middle. They’d let it dry and still keep it, they kept them all, but, well, it was a loss. They threw their own away, pulled out new paper and got up to wash the inkwell and fill it again. When they got back, they caught Magnus holding Elliott’s letter, staring at it intently. Their heart beat off kilter. “Magnus?”

Magnus looked up at them, biting his lip before pointing, carefully holding the paper so the ink didn’t drip. “M. Y. Mmm…ee?”

“It makes the I sound.”

He paused. “My?”

“Correct.”

He stared at it longer as they sat, trying not to watch him too hard. “L, O, V, E. L….luh-ov-e?”

“Close. O makes an “uh” noise.” They’d long forgotten most of the tips Anita had given them on how the letters worked, but Magnus never needed much. They wondered sometimes if he would be in one of those gifted classes they’d heard about, if he were in a normal school.

“Luh-uhv-e. Luvy. L-oh-v….Love.”

They smiled. “Right. Do you know what that means?”

“Love. Ást.”

“That’s right.”

He looked back at the letter, glancing over it. ““With all my love, Elliott.” He’s saying he loves you?”

They breathed in deeply, half their head traveling back to him, and that warm smile, a little mingled knot of guilt in their gut. Perhaps they were wrong about the handwriting, and he was doing worse than he let on. “Yes. He signs all of his letters that way.”

Magnus put it down, leaving behind an inky thumbprint. “How do you sign yours?”

“The same.”

He was quiet a long moment. _Inherited it from you, _Bjørn would say. Their pauses had been a bane on the relationship. “So, you love him.”

“I do.”

“Do you love Pamma?”

They swallowed. “In a way.”

“The same way?”

This was the most he’d ever asked about Elliott-the only time he’d ever asked about him, actually. Magnus had seemed to decide Elliott Witt didn’t exist. The sudden interest was bolstering, but equally worrying. Mostly, Bloodhound was worried what he would say. They gently took both his hands, still so small, in theirs. “No, Magnus.”

Magnus furrowed his brow, looking them in the eye. Looking at their own eyes on another person had always been strange. Elliott called them “intense”, and looking at Magnus now, they were beginning to understand. He gently slid his hands from between theirs, the space he left cold, and went to the door. “I’m going to go help Ama.”

Their throat was stuck. Their hands hung, not knowing what to hold onto. “Alright, Mags.”

He glanced at them a couple times, then went through the door, closing it gently behind him. They looked at their hands, flexing them slowly. Perhaps, they thought, I should be more concerned with what he _isn’t_ saying. 

* * *

Artur and Sigfrøðr were always fun. Sigfrøðr was the storyteller, and Artur would bounce off him, saying, “Oh, Sig, you got it all wrong!” And launch into his own version of a story, to which Sigfrøðr would retort, and back and forth, the story becoming more and more outlandish until it was pure fiction, and then Sigfrøðr would laugh and lightly shove Artur, saying, “but really,” and continue the original tale. Elliott brings out his own stories, back and forth with Artur who’d blatantly make up things that happened, Sigfrøðr joining in once he’d had enough to drink. It was a welcome distraction, a respite.

After dinner they all went out into the cold night with a cigar, passing it between them. Elliott had never liked cigars, but he’d had Renee hide his cigarettes to keep from stress smoking, so any nicotine was welcome. Sigfrøðr and Artur leaned into each other, all three men talking quietly about practical things: the next mail delivery, paper and pen shipment, the moving date, how much transport was going to cost. “I’m tired of all this math,” Artur declared suddenly. He kissed Sigfrøðr’s cheek and went to bed. Sigfrøðr chuckled and put the cigar out against the toe of his boot. Elliott inhaled the night chill deeply, breathing out slowly, pretending his condensed breath was smoke. He’d be leaving soon, a few minutes. There was a ladder into the field outside of the village now, and he had a headlamp to make the night walk safe. But he had to say something, what had been gnawing at him all evening.

“Hey, Sigfrøðr.” He looked over, silver hairs shining in the moonlight. “I, uh, I’ve been thinking a lot about that question, you know, from earlier. I think you helped me, uh, helped me realize something. What I want.”

“Oh,” he sounded surprised. “What is that?”

He bit his lip. As with almost anything, he wanted to take it back as soon as he opened his mouth. But he didn’t at the same time. He wouldn’t. “I wanna raise a kid that doesn’t have to grow up in a warzone and see his friends die. Have a family and a home...have what my brothers never got the chance to.” He looked up at the stars and felt a smile tug at his lips. “And for the first time...it feels like it's possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ast - love  
God, 3k hits everyone! What a hell of a milestone! To those who have read since the beginning, you've got a lot of patience and I appreciate you immensely! Those who have come along the way-welcome, thank you, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story as we get closer to the end! Your comments bring me light, and your kudos joy. Thank you so much and have a good day <3


	22. Settle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for the break. 3 things led to it, in order:
> 
> I broke my pinky finger  
It would have gotten lost in the 31 Days of Apex - the event was great for the record! I just noticed that with a couple other things I published  
Been visiting family out of state for 2wks
> 
> bonus: the ending was harder to bring together than it might seem. 
> 
> As always a huge shoutout to @skezzab on twitter for beta-ing this behemoth and especially for her help with the ending! And a gigantic thank you to all the readers, commenters, and kudo-ers. You absolutely brighten my day! If you want updates on fics like Serendipity or to hear my ramblings, or want to DM or c*mmission me, you can also follow me @kittymsmithwritesstuff on tumblr!

“Hey, Hundur!”

Bloodhound half turned, either arm laden with ravens, and thrust their arms upward to send the birds off when they saw a couple of the women they’d grown up with. “Ah, hello Helga, Anna. I hope the Allfather has blessed you this day.”

“And you,” Helga replied. “Seems the ravens are a sign.”

“The days are always better when they linger,” they agreed, walking back toward the aviary tower where dozens and dozens of ravens perched. It was held up by a single large timber pole in the middle of a circle; they walked in, but the two women remained in the doorway. They could invite them in, but they were actually working, tidying the nests and checking the chicks. Anna craned her head in, looking up toward the peak of the tower. She’d always wanted to be a ravenkeeper, her grandmother had had the honor, but the ravens loved to bite her. Bloodhound didn’t think she’d ever gotten over them getting the privilege.

“You seem happier lately, Blóðhundur.” Helga said.

They glanced over. “Thank you. Uh. I think.”

“It’s just, we’ve heard a rumor,” Anna started, beginning to step in before Bloodhound shot her a sharp warning glare. She pouted but retreated.  _ And I’m the problem child? At least I respect tradition…usually. _

“Knowledge does not rumor make,” they said.

“Well, just that, there’s  _ someone _ …”

“Someone special,” Helga added.

“And foreign!” Anna said with no hidden excitement.

Bloodhound rolled their eyes with their back to the two women. There was an awkward pause.

“Oh, come now, Hundur,” Helga said playfully. “At least tell us if he’s handsome.”

“Or rich,” Anna grinned. “Will you finally settle?”

They clenched the straw in their hand tightly. The raven before them, Jara, pecked at the pieces inquisitively, impatiently waiting for her new bed. Bloodhound smoothed their own feathers and began laying down the bed. “I have settled, as much as a raven can.” They glanced back, seeing Helga give Anna a  _ look _ . Helga, at the very least, had some tact.

“We just heard it was serious,” Helga said, “we’re very happy for you!”

Bloodhound stared, raising their arms slightly, inviting about four ravens to perch. “I’m sorry, but I have a lot of work to do.” They came to the door, both women taking two steps back, and gave them a nod before closing it. They fell against the ancient timber support, sending the ravens flying, and slid to the straw-covered floor. They looked to the top where a hole let in daylight, closed their eyes, and sighed.

* * *

The knock on the door, followed by the opening of said door, had Taejoon vaulting the couch that sat across his bedroom doorway in his underwear, Yon in sword mode in his hand. But it was just Renee. “ _ Gae-sae! _ Renee!”

She raised an eyebrow. Struck with sudden modesty he vaulted back over the couch to pull on a shirt that was laying on his floor. He heard the door close. “Why don’t you retract the couch back into place?”

“Tofu keeps kneading my chest when I’m in bed but he’s usually too lazy to climb over it,” he muttered, tugging at the crumpled shirt sleeves. He began scanning for a pair of joggers.

“Aw, don’t have to get dressed up on my behalf,” she smiled, leaning against his desk, but politely training her eyes to the side.

“Shut up.”

“What has you so jumpy? I mean, jumpier than usual.”

“Shut uuup,” he half sang, finally finding pants. “You never use the door.”

“I figured you’d be at your computer or something. You, uh, you haven’t been answering my texts.”

He huffed. One of the unfortunate disadvantages of communicating through an ocular implant was the fact you couldn’t exactly say you left your phone in the other room. And one of the disadvantages of having a friend for the first time in, what, five years? Was that he almost immediately blurted out exactly what was wrong, which he didn’t want to do. He liked to think he had some control over himself still, crying in her arms on the floor of a hotel room aside.

And despite a whole paragraph devoted to it, he still threw it out as if it was a candy wrapper: “I’ve just been thinking about Mila.”

He could see it in her eyes,  _ “for two days?!” _ she might have said, if she had less tact than others. He wasn’t sure if she understood—she had no idea if she even had any siblings, and even if she did she had no memory of them. But it was still nice to hear her sympathetically say, “oh, shit. You want me to go?”

He shook his head. Funny, it was so easy to tell her things. Something like that would have thrown him into a panic with anyone else. “No. Only if you want to.”

She shook her head. “No…you need to talk about it?”

Need. Not want, need, because he never wanted to talk about it. “I just can’t get her out of my head,” he said lightly, climbing over the couch and sitting with his feet on the cushions. “I never can. But I’ve been having some weird dreams…”

“What kind of weird?” Renee was on sudden high alert.

Taejoon hesitated. “Memories, from when we were growing up. Super clear ones. Playing out like a movie. And then sometimes it’s just….images, sounds, things I’ve never heard before. Sometimes it’s her, but it’s you, but it’s my mom-it’s a bunch of different women in my life and they’re all saying something and looking at me, but I can’t get near them and it…” He sighed as she sat down on the back of the couch beside him, perched like a bird. It was a bit of a tight fit. “I wake up in a cold sweat every time. Even if it’s a good dream. And during the day I just…I just think about her. I miss her.” He swallowed, putting his face in his hands. His choked sob turned into a laugh.

“What’s up?” She asked.

He sniffed, raising his head up. His eyes were puffy. “I just, just remembered when we first met, at the orphanage.” The smile forming felt loose and wobbly. “She laughed at me for crying, said I couldn’t because I was a boy. I told her my Amma, ah, my birth mom, said I could cry all I wanted, and I screamed in her face.”

Renee laughed. “I bet she was surprised.”

He grinned, widely, eyes shining. “She screamed right back.”

* * *

“I spoke with Helga’s mother today,” Mamma said.

Bloodhound stiffly tilted sugar into their tea. “And how is Margrét?”

“Good. She said that salve you brought from the Outlands has helped with the arthritis.”

“I shall remember to bring more.”

“She also said you were rude to her daughter.”

They gripped the spoon while stirring, the sound ringing from the cup and out, smoothing any other noise out of the kitchen. “Margrét thinks the chickens in her daughter’s henhouse are rude for only laying one egg a day.”

“Oh,  _ Blóðhundur _ , really!”

“Yes, Mamma, really. I’ve heard her.”

“Child,” she said, tone cutting. “Would it kill you to be polite? Helga has never been a bother to anyone!”

They meant to set it down, but they threw their spoon at the counter, sending it flying to Gods-only-know-where. “She was a bother to me! Her and that damn Anna!”

“Because you  _ let _ her bother you!”

“She was being  _ nosey, _ Mother!”

She heaved her chest in a heavy sigh, the matronly mitigation of her own temper, something Bloodhound had inherited with twice the intensity and half the control. “Well, you said Pabbie could mention it to his friends last week, what did you expect? Bringing someone who was not even born under our sun.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to be bothered about marriage again! Gods!” They started throwing things, soft things, the rag over the oven, the potholders. Tossing them at the cabinet and catching them. Pabbie had taught them how to manage their temper, soft things in the house, knives outside. Punch the wall and turn or walk away. Be silent rather than yell. But right now, they couldn’t be silent, and their voice began to rise. “I can not be let to live in peace outside of this house! Ten years and at least one will ask, oh, Blóðhundur, have you met someone out in those lands? Oh, Blóðhundur, my son is not married either! He’s not much older, not much younger, not much of anything!” They threw their hands in the air. “What is so sinful in living for myself, and my son, and my family? Gods, fokk, fokk, fokk!”

They slammed their fist into the wall, and again they turned to their mother, almost screaming at her. “No one ever bothers Katla! Why can’t they leave me be too!?”

A frown drew itself into their mother’s face, pulling the aged skin down, making her look even older than she was. “Because,” she whispered into the ringing quiet, “they haven’t given up on you yet.”

* * *

“Why did you look so shocked about my dream?” Taejoon asked, now sat cross-legged in his computer chair. Renee was curled into the corner of his couch. Each of them had a bowl of microwave ramen. Tofu was daintily pulling his cat food out piece by piece and putting it on the floor before eating it. He only ever did it with Renee, with just Taejoon around he’d open his mouth as widely as possible, slam it into the food bowl and then close it, like the claw of a toy crane machine.

“Well, you remember the whole “visit from myself” thing from Gridiron I told you about?”

“Yah.”

“I’ve been having dreams since then too.” She half shrugged. “Not as many as yours, but soon as you said it a voice yelled “ask” in my head, so I did.”

“Did they say anything after I told you?”

“Nope. But it felt eerily similar, mostly the whole, talking thing. I dunno. Gave me a chill, but I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Mm.” He typed a note through his implant and returned to his food. “Guess keep an eye out at the next facility.”

“Have you gotten into Evelyn’s database?”

“Nope. The encryption and firewall is insane, far better than the Syndicate’s, and you know what a pain that was.”

“Ugh.”

“Ugh,” he agreed. “And X is on my ass. I’m almost ready to drop him but…”

“But what?”

He paused. Renee barely knew anything about X. Hell,  _ he _ barely knew anything about X. He’d been kind of uninteresting the past few weeks, weekly progress reports as standard as they were before, but the day in the mirror…he decided to catch her up. “And then he mentioned that I should recruit the people that weren’t loyal to the Syndicate to the… _ cause _ , whatever that is. I mean, I can guess, but I don’t like my guesses.”

“I don’t think you’d like mine either.”

He inhaled deeply. “He’s trying to gather resources. I don’t know what for. I have another voice call with him in a few weeks, which means I have more time to prepare for…well, anything. But, so does he.”

“You only know what he looks like, huh?”

“Barely, he shows up looking homeless the few times we’ve met, and I think he has a voice modulator like you. Probably the contacts too if he’s smart. He certainly has the money for it.”

She shrugged, stirring noodles that were pretty much waterlogged by this point. She insisted she liked them that way, and Taejoon usually responded by holding up crossed fingers at her. Tofu didn’t mind; any noodle gifts from nice void portal lady were accepted with great enthusiasm. “Well, I guess you keep plugging away at Evelyn’s encryption and we can keep going down the facility list. And we should both keep dream journals.” He snorted. “Don’t laugh, the void and all the dimensions in it work weird. There might be something there.”

“Fine,” he said, still laughing while bringing up the list through his implant. It projected between them, and they went silent again. “We only have three facilities left,” he said quietly.

“Yeah.” She said, pulling the first coordinates from the projected document and throwing them into a search engine.

“We don’t know if we’ll find anything.”

“No.” She pulled up a cluster of noodles. “But we’re close to something. I just don’t know what.”

* * *

“Fiak, they are on the roof again.”

“I know, wife.”

“Well? Aren’t you going to get them off it? It’s unseemly.”

“It’s Blóðhundur, no one cares.”

“True. I wonder why they’re up there this time.”

“Why don’t you ask, wife? They can probably hear you talking.”

The roof below Bloodhound’s back thumped. “Blóðhundur? Can you hear us?”

Bloodhound slid down the roof and leaned over the eave, looking directly into the open window. “Yes, but not because of the unsoundness of your walls.”

“Oh!” Elin clasped her hands over her heart. “Oh Blóðhundur, you startled me!”

“And you two would startle half the village with what you get up to at midnight sun. Remind me how you have no children?”

“Allfather’s grace,” Elin replied with a smile, shutting the window in their face. Fiak joined them on the roof soon after, passing them two hot, sweet smelling pancakes. Elliott would have called them crepes, and often they were spread with jam, but Bloodhound always liked sugar and butter, and Elin, let her soul rise to Valhalla, had made theirs just so.

“I swear, I am stealing your wife.”

“Nei, but she does pay for chores in pancakes.”

“Noted,” they muttered, having already shoved a whole one in their mouth.

“We thought you looked sad,” he said, eating his with much more restraint.

“Is it that obvious?” They sighed, the sugar and the butter tempering some of their remaining…well, temper.

“You usually are if you’re spending three hours on my roof. What’s wrong with your own?”

“My family happens to live under it.”

“Ah, so it’s the whole bunch?”

They paused, then flopped back. Elliott would probably lose his mind with the sun still out at 11pm, but they’d always liked it. The hours they used to keep in summer as a teenager and a child were…detrimental. “Not really. Mamma brought up Helga.”

“Oh, yes. Helga’s sister mentioned it.”

“I bet she said I threw a raven at her.”

“Just about.”

“Well, I would have liked to throw one at Anna.”

“No one would complain if you did.”

They snorted. “I am not so annoyed with Helga, really, but Anna, she brought up settling.”

“And there it is,” Fiak laid on his side, propped up by his elbow. July was one of the few months without snow nowadays. There was talk the Earth was finally exiting its ice age. “I think if I were to make a list on how to set you off that would be in the top three.”

They chuckled, closing their eyes. “Do people still get on you and Elin?”

“About children? Yes, of course, they will complain about us not having them, about us getting old without them, and then they will speak in hushed tones about the poor old childless couple. But you know what I think, Hundur? I think they’re just jealous. Of both of us.”

They opened their eyes, the sun almost blinding for a moment, and looked at him. “And how is that?”

“They are jealous of you for having the, the, oh, what was the English term you taught me?”

“The balls?”

“The balls! Yes! You have the  _ balls _ to go out and explore, to see people and places most of us cannot imagine; you are Huginn and Muninn incarnated, going through Greater Midgard and beyond to collect information for the Allfather. To fight in his name and, by his blessing, greet Valhalla when your path ends!” They crossed their arms over their face because they were smiling too much. “Your stories of the beasts you’ve slain and the treasure you’ve found, they’re already legends and you’re not even dead! That’s enough to make the Gods jealous. Who knows, perhaps they’ll make you one.”

“Doesn’t quite work like that but thank you for the faith.” They let their arms fall again. Besides Magnus and their parents, they probably missed Fiak the most when they were away.

“Never lost it. Now, can you guess why they’re jealous of me?”

They snorted. “You have a beautiful wife and no children to get in the way of fucking like rabbits.”

He beat on his roof with his fist, bellowing with great enthusiasm, “exactly!”

* * *

Artur emerged first, followed by Bloodhound-flushed, frustrated, bundle of nine braids splaying and shirt rising above their belly button when they reached for the offending corvid. Elliott, possessing less restraint than Octavio on the first day of the season, launched into a hotfoot run straight at them, scooping them up in his arms and twirling, their shout of shock quickly giving way to delight as he yelled, “I missed you!”

“I missed you too!” They tossed their arms around him, holding him tightly as he set them on the ground, the two swaying, then pulling back enough to kiss in a way that brought about the passing thought that the longer he knew them, the sweeter the kisses that absolved their absence. He giggled, breaking to nuzzle their face and breathe them in. “Gods did I miss you,” they mumbled into his shoulder.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Was the trip okay?”

“I slept most the way,” they pulled back, eyes widening. “By Gods, your beard!”

He stroked it with one hand, trying to pull a facial expression suited to a snooty British butler. “What, don’t like it?”

“Have you cut this since I left?” They began petting it with their hands. “I can almost lose my fingers in it.”

“I am a very hairy man.”

“Oh, believe me I  _ know- _ “

“Ahem.”

They both jumped, Evelyn smiling to the side of them with Artur perched on her shoulder. “Hello, Bloodhound.”

“Evelyn!” They hugged her, admonishing Artur before saying, “I didn’t expect to see you!”

“Oh, Elliott didn’t tell you?”

“No, no he told me, I just, well, I didn’t think, uh…”

Evelyn chuckled, patting their cheek while Elliott grabbed one of their bags. “I happened to want to see you too, Bloodhound. Besides, I got cute pictures of you two now!”

“Ma! I didn’t know you brought your camera!” Elliott whined, to which she grinned.

“Of course I did. Now, why don’t you get those bags in the rental and we’ll get lunch.”

They did so, Elliott pouting, but he really couldn’t be annoyed or mad with anything with Bloodhound at his side again-besides, she’d used an analog camera. 

Given the planet Ithurn was one of the few that didn’t broadcast the Games they were able to hold hands while walking through the city. They sat close in the booth of the restaurant, they leaned into each other, touching without that ever-present paranoia. It was ridiculously invigorating. Conversation did sober when Evelyn and Elliott ran Bloodhound through a more detailed explanation of Evelyn’s arrival and the Novissimus facility, but quickly turned light again. For now Elliott desperately craved respite and attention and he was getting both by the handfuls.

They went to a little downtown area after. Elliott was sort of surprised neither of them were trying to rush back to the dropship, but the normalcy was like a salve to a burn. They hadn’t had it like this since they stayed with his mother, and even then there was an air of caution; here the valve was released and he was able to do things like window shop and discuss whether or not they should get a mattress for Bloodhound’s room (his opinion was a hard  _ yes _ but they seemed to think it lacked creativity). 

It began to get late in what became an impromptu shopping trip, so they stopped at some overpriced but aesthetically pleasing café in the old part of downtown for a kind-of-dinner. After, when they stepped out onto the cobblestone lit dimly by intricately caged streetlights that made glowing orange globes in the windows, Elliott suddenly grabbed Bloodhound and dipped them into a ridiculously romantic kiss in the middle of the street. They got two woops from afar before he pulled them back up and breathed, “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

They blubbered something or other till they could get out, “If I ever lost you, I’d trade the stars to get you back.”

Being that was one of the most beautiful things anyone could ever say to him, Elliott immediately said, “shit that’s neat.”

Thankfully they laughed, pressing their face to his chest and lingering until his mom eventually reminded them there was a time limit on the rental. They got back, Elliott and Bloodhound bickered about the bags (Elliott grabbed all but Artur’s cage) and Bloodhound, to Elliott’s surprise, didn’t even try covering themself, they just threw on their mask, pulled up their hood and drew it tight.

The few Legends in the common area waved, and Bloodhound waved back but was gone in a flash, Elliott bringing up the tail as they entered their room, no longer a depression nest. Within a half hour they were naked and laced together like touch starved koalas. The lovebites that had long faded were scattered anew, and he thought he might never stop running his hand along their back. 

They were practically asleep in his arms as he kissed them, their nose, their cheeks, their limp-wristed hand that had been squeezed between them, which he pulled over his shoulder. They hummed and snuggled closer. And then they surprised him, managing to wrangle themself up and over, hands on either side of his head, chains holding the hammock creaking in weak protest. Their now loose hair was so long now it pooled around his head and blocked the light from his face as they leaned, gazing at him. 

They lowered down to their elbow, other hand coming around to thumb at his cheekbone. Streaks of orange candlelight peeked through their hair. He wanted to close his eyes and simply feel them, but some little paranoid nodule in his brain was convinced that when he opened them again, they’d be gone. 

“I love you,” they whispered, like there was someone who might hear.

“I love you too,” he replied, hoping someone would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy FUCKBALLS almost 4k hits what the FUCK

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a Tumblr now @kittymsmithwrites (I do take c*mmissions!)


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